


Break the Tide

by meeks00



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Bokuto and Atsumu are besties, Brotherly Love, Commoner Miya Atsumu, Courtship, Courtship AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hinata is a distant prince bc he is my prince, Illnesses, M/M, Miya Atsumu is a Little Shit, No beta we die like mne, Nobleman Sakusa Kiyoomi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Bokuto Koutarou, Sakusa is basically Mr. Darcy, Sakusa is soft and awkward, Swearing, the Miyas' best friend is a cow named Toshiko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27392545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meeks00/pseuds/meeks00
Summary: As a newly minted war hero for saving the kingdom’s favorite vassal, Sir Bokuto, Atsumu has traveled to the city to formally receive the rights to the Inarizaki fiefdom. He is absolutely not trying to win the hand of rich, rude, flouncy Lord Sakusa, the court’s most eligible bachelor.Sir Bokuto should be helping Atsumu assimilate among the nobility, but instead, he is occupied with looking after Lord Akaashi, who seems to be out of favor after his royal betrothal to another is dissolved.--“So, which one is he?” Lord Sakusa asks. His face is impassive as he crosses his arms, eyes moving slowly between Osamu and Atsumu with what appears to be boredom.It’s a question they get so often it’s become commonplace. Yet the dismissive tone irks Atsumu in a way that makes him straighten his spine and smile harder. Sakusa is the epitome of everything Atsumu had assumed the nobility would be: snooty, disdainful, and condescending.“Me,” he spits out. Even he is a little taken aback by his own tone. Osamu shoots him a dismayed look. Bokuto laughs uncomfortably.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 104
Kudos: 558





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from “Rituals” by Cubicolor. 
> 
> I keep writing this stuff for angst week, and then there is very little angst in the way that I mean to include it. I am maybe angst-ed out from my other multi-chapter story, and now all that I have left is fluff in my heart. Here's a bit of angry angst until we get into some other types of angst later. 
> 
> Anyway, this was inspired by the Tier 3 prompt “I wish I’d never met you.”

Atsumu adjusts the cuffs on his blouse, carefully running calloused fingers over the fine silk and warily avoiding smudging the shiny cufflinks made from precious stone. His embroidered silver and black vest beneath a matching overcoat feels too tight, like it’s constricting his breathing, so he tugs it down and twists a little to see if that’ll help. 

He wishes he could’ve just worn his service coat and uniform instead, but it all damn near came apart back home when he finally shrugged it off for his farm clothes.

“Ya done primpin’ yet, or can we go in?” Osamu says quietly from his left. He wears a similar outfit, though in opposing colors, with black embroidery highlighting the light gray material. Atsumu didn’t say anything, but his brother looks particularly sharp and even comfortable, despite being as unfamiliar with such fancy clothing as Atsumu. He hates to admit it, but Lord Sakusa’s tailor that had accosted them when they first arrived at the city had done a nice job.

Shooting his head up with a glare, Atsumu feels his hair wisp across his forehead and quickly brushes it back. “Shut yer trap. I’ll be ready when I’m fuckin’ good and ready.”

“What a mouth on that one,” a woman mutters, passing by with her gloved hand looped into a man’s elbow. 

Atsumu refuses to acknowledge the blush rising up the back of his neck, instead turning away as Osamu raises a brow at him. The smug bastard. 

“Get that look off yer face, ‘Samu,” Atsumu snaps. He brushes his hair to the side again as he stares at the entrance and the doorman looking down his nose at them. “Let’s go.” 

It takes another moment for Atsumu to present the crumpled invitation from his pocket, which the doorman surveys carefully - despite letting others just walk right past without a glance. He can feel it when his smile begins to turn vicious, and Osamu nudges him when he opens his mouth as if to head him off. He just broadens his grin when the doorman finally hands back the invitation and sweeps a hand to invite them in.

Inside, Atsumu finds himself quickly overwhelmed by the number of people milling about. The entire manor is resplendent, every surface polished without a speck of dust or dirt, every bit of its architecture finely crafted and curving, gold and silver and marble stretching distantly up three whole floors. The room, with its high and painted ceilings, is larger than their entire barn back home. 

With a start, Atsumu realizes the room is just the entryway; people are continuing past it into what looks like an even larger ballroom. Within, it sounds like a full-blown orchestra is playing, the sounds carrying to them even where they are by the door.

“We shouldn’ta come here,” Atsumu says under his breath as more people filter in past them, looking at them apprehensively. “This ain’t worth it.” 

Osamu grabs his arm and draws him to the side of the room. He looks uncharacteristically tense as he meets Atsumu’s eyes. “It’s an honor,” he says, and Atsumu rolls his eyes. Osamu squeezes his arm to make him focus and continues, “Ya deserve this, ‘Tsumu. We’re here for just a couple ‘a weeks for yer debut. Enjoy it, won’t ya? Then ya can get yer hands back in the mud back home again.” He pauses. “Right where ya belong, ya filthy pig.”

Atsumu shakes his arm away, scowling as he holds onto the sore spot, but it doesn’t actually hurt. Then he has a realization and a smug smirk takes over his face. It’s the one that Osamu hates the most, and he watches with gratification as his brother’s earnest expression evens out into derision once again. “Aw. Yer proud of me!” 

“No.”

“Yeah, ya are!” 

“I’m _not,”_ Osamu says firmly, and he leads the way to the ballroom. 

Atsumu is nearly overwhelmed again as people stare at them when they head in. He knows he was invited; the doorman let them in, even if it was grudgingly. He plasters a smile more firmly on his face to cover his unease. As he glances around, he’s suddenly not sure about his clothes; everyone is wearing bright colors with lots of jewelry on their fingers, ears, and neck, and they all seem to be smiling in a way that seems to imply they know something he doesn’t. Damn rich folk. 

Osamu elbows him in the side to keep him moving, but then a loud shout echoes over the din of the music and other guests. 

“Tsum-Tsum!” 

Turning to his right, he watches as the crowd parts. Atsumu is used to this kind of reaction on the battlefield. He himself has grown accustomed to seeing the broad form of his comrade in arms, and he's used to the way others catch one glimpse of that figure barreling down at them and fling themselves away in terror. 

Now, though, ladies and gentlemen alike drift to make room with gentle sweeps of skirts and lace and silk, eyes lit up with reverence and amusement as Bokuto Koutarou stalks forward, his hands raised high in a triumphant welcome.

Atsumu snorts while, next to him, Osamu says, “Shit. You weren’t kiddin’.”

Instead of mud, blood, and worse coating him, Bokuto is positively shining. Atsumu is not sure he’s ever seen the man so clean before. He stares in shock at the polished reflection of his calf-high boots up to the high peaks of his silver and black hair. The hair alone would be a sight after months and years of seeing the sweat- and mud-slicked style all the soldiers suffered - even fancy lords like Bokuto. A slew of gold chains and pins glitter across Bokuto’s surcoat to showcase his many accolades, and the decorative sword at his waist positively sparkles in the shimmering lights around the room. 

Atsumu is at once relieved and embarrassed by the big hug he’s engulfed in that lifts him off his feet. When he’s placed back on the ground, he notices people nearby crowding around, muttering behind their gloved hands. He tries his best not to show it’s getting to him. 

“Bo-kun,” Atsumu says, unable to help that he’s smiling at his friend. There’s a slight increase in the volume of the muttering voices around them, so he says quickly, “Uh - I mean, Lord - Sir? - Bokuto.” 

Bokuto just laughs, and it’s another small thing that’s familiar enough that Atsumu grins back easily. “Gross! Don’t call me that. You saved my fucking life!” He turns to Osamu, who bows briefly. “You must be Osamu! I’ve heard the best stories about you. I’m glad you made it!”

He glances around and seems to notice they’ve attracted a crowd. Strangely, he looks mildly sheepish, which seems so at odds with what Atsumu is used to. Despite being the top-ranked lord in their encampment during the war, Bokuto was always at ease with everyone, candid and sharp in equal measure, as if station didn’t matter out there. 

Atsumu is realizing quickly that it very much matters here in the city.

“Let’s - let’s head over. I’ll introduce you to Kiy - uh - Lord Sakusa, our host,” Bokuto says. He nods politely to the people surrounding them. 

Bokuto swings a heavy arm around each of their shoulders as he leads them toward the front of the room. Some people call out to him, or try to get in their way to greet him and Atsumu both, but Bokuto powers through in a way that only he can - with absent grace and a bright smile. 

As they walk, Bokuto points out some of the other guests like Atsumu will ever take a moment to remember them. He doesn’t really care either way, because after he gets the formal land rights to their fief, he’s heading straight back to Hyogo and leaving all of these flouncy rich folk to their needlessly extravagant homes and wasteful spreads of food - that no one is even touching, what the hell - behind.

“So, you hear anything yet about Sakusa?” Bokuto asks under his breath. 

Atsumu shakes his head. “Just that he’s another fancy lord, apparently,” he replies. Then he glances up to catch the amused glint in Bokuto’s gold eyes. “No offense.”

Bokuto’s grin is near blinding. “None taken. You’re a salt of the earth kinda man. It’s why I like you the best, Tsum-Tsum!” 

Atsumu can’t help but preen. Though Osamu is looking at him with that judging sideways glare, like he can tell that someone is giving Atsumu his due respect. “So, do I have ta, like, do an extra-low bow or what? Kiss his shoes?”

“Nah. Sakusa is - he’d probably hate that, actually!” Bokuto says with a laugh. “He’s kinda quiet too, but he’s good. You’ll like him! Everyone likes him.” He pauses. “Well, they like him fair enough, I guess. I mean, his family is one of the oldest and richest in court and has Shouyou - uh - Prince Hinata’s favor. Plus, every available bachelor and bachelorette has been trying to get his attention since he debuted.” 

Atsumu couldn’t care less about the mating rituals of the nobility. It sounds like this Sakusa is kind of a prude, really. But, Atsumu has to admit, he is the one who’s offering the Miyas the rights to their fiefdom, so he isn’t about to be rude - at least not to the man’s face. 

When Bokuto drops his arms, it’s because they’ve stopped by a corner far back in the room. Atsumu frowns up at Bokuto, like he’s led them astray, because there is no one at the table before them. 

“Kiyoomi, you doin’ alright?” Bokuto asks quietly. 

Atsumu sees Osamu glance at him questioningly, but he’s at a loss, so he shrugs. 

“Bokuto, I understand that he’s your friend, but I won’t ever forgive you for subjecting me to this inanity,” a dry voice says nearby. 

It takes a moment, but then Atsumu catches movement at the corner of his eye. He steps back quickly out of instinct, defensive, but he doesn’t have a knife on him. It’s just another rich lord anyway who steps forward from where he was partially obscured behind a heavy curtain next to the incredibly tall windows. 

Atsumu thinks he doesn’t look like someone who’s ever seen a battle up close in his life. Looking him over, there’s a cold, distant air around him that makes Atsumu believe that it must be the money people are after. He doesn’t seem particularly friendly or welcoming, though Atsumu supposes he’s handsome enough. With two beauty marks above his right eyebrow, Sakusa has wavy hair spilling over one side of his face, and glittering dark eyes. He’s also wearing a garish yellow and green outfit that hugs his tall, lean form, and it is nearly blinding. It must have cost a fortune to dye colors so brilliant into the fancy material. Atsumu truly does not understand royal fashion. 

“So, which one is he?” Sakusa asks when he finally steps forward. His face is impassive as he crosses his arms, eyes moving slowly between Osamu and Atsumu with what appears to be boredom.

It’s a question they get so often it’s become commonplace. Yet the dismissive tone irks Atsumu in a way that makes him straighten his spine and smile harder. 

It’s the kind of tone he’d expected to hear from Bokuto when he’d first met him. When Bokuto first arrived at the encampment, Atsumu had taken one look at the lord’s fine royal livery and polished boots, the easy grin he wore even as their men lay dying in trenches around them, and had been determined to hate him. 

But on the next incursion, Bokuto had fearlessly led the charge with that same easy - but now vicious - smile that brought the men to life around them. He’d also carried two wounded men on his back during a lull to get them help as if they hadn’t been fighting half the day to near exhaustion, and he ended up giving away those ritzy boots of his later that night at camp to a frightened boy with a disintegrating pair of flat shoes. 

So Atsumu had been wrong about him. Whatever. He was wrong about one lord. 

This one, though - Sakusa - is the epitome of everything Atsumu had assumed the nobility would be like: snooty, disdainful, and condescending. Somehow, Sakusa had fit in so much of what Atsumu despised into one single question.

“Me,” Atsumu spits out, and even he is a little taken aback by his own tone. Osamu shoots him a dismayed look.

Bokuto laughs uncomfortably. “Yes! This is Miya Atsumu!” Bokuto says. “The to-be Lord of Hyogo. And this is his brother, Miya Osamu.”

Sakusa now only has eyes for Atsumu, who lifts his chin under the scrutiny. He doesn’t care about the fancy, tailored clothes Sakusa is wearing, isn’t thinking twice now about his own garish get-up or his out-of-place country accent. He doesn’t need approval from the nobility. He did his part in the war as the eldest son and never asked to be rewarded for it, but their fief lord died and was terrible anyway, so Atsumu is stepping up in the only way he knows how. If that means taking on a title to ensure his ma and their townspeople are looked after, then so be it. 

And anyway, the nobility had asked him to come here, not the other way around. He had been doing just fine in Hyogo tending to the farm with Osamu. So if Sakusa and his big room full of glittery cronies want to be giant dicks about it, well then they can just go stuff themselves.

“Thank you for saving Lord Bokuto’s life,” Sakusa says evenly, cutting off Atsumu’s train of thought. “I’m certain I speak for everyone at court when I say that we’re all grateful to you.”

Atsumu blinks at him. That was definitely not what he’d expected to hear next. “Uh - “ he says inanely. 

Sakusa blinks at him expectantly. Bokuto smiles brightly, clearly touched. And Osamu is still looking at him in dismay. 

“Sure. Yeah.” _Shit._ Atsumu is choking, and it’s not a good look for him. He forces the smile back onto his face. “He didn’t need much savin’,” he says finally. 

Bokuto is grinning down at him, fond and amused. “Don’t be humble, Tsum-Tsum,” he says. “It’s not like you!” 

Osamu snorts a laugh, and Atsumu scowls at them both. “I’m plenty humble!” he snaps. 

Sakusa sighs, drawing their attention, but his gaze is over their shoulders at where a crowd seems to hover. “I suppose I can’t avoid them for very much longer,” he says quietly, as if to himself. He turns to Atsumu. “Please enjoy the party. It’s for you, after all. I’m sure everyone is excited to meet another war hero.” Atsumu still does not like his tone or the way Sakusa looks down his nose. He’s not that much taller, so he shouldn’t be able to do it as well as he is. “We’ll meet next week to formally go over the contracts for the title transfer of the Hyogo fiefdom.”

With that, and no goodbye in any sense of the word, Sakusa walks off and is immediately engulfed by the crowd of fake smiles and grating voices. 

.

The rest of the night is not much better, honestly. 

Osamu, strangely enough, seems to be getting on with a tall, lanky red-haired man with large round eyes and expressive hand gestures. They wandered over to one of the long tables a bit ago, seeming to bond over the food where the rest of the party’s guests are avoiding touching the dishes like they’re only meant to be stared at rather than eaten. Atsumu will never understand rich folks.

Around Atsumu, however, Sakusa’s initial tone is echoed by nearly every single person Bokuto introduces them to throughout the night. They comment on Atsumu's “charming” accent and “quaint” fashion sense. Bokuto, when he pays attention, steers them away from the ruder comments or outright frowns enough that they back off. Still, they seem to get around his censure by talking in what sound like riddles that go over both Bokuto and Atsumu’s heads.

After a while, Atsumu tunes out in favor of watching Bokuto’s attention wander.

It’s less of a wander, really, than like an arrow finding its target wherever it lands around the room. That target happens to be a, quite frankly, stunning man in navy blue and white with dark hair and a composed expression. Even from here, Atsumu can see that he is gorgeous. The crowd of people around him shows that Bokuto’s not the only one enamored by him. 

“Who is that?” Atsumu finally asks. 

Bokuto tears his gaze away and smiles. “Who?”

“That man you keep staring at.”

“Oh god, what! Am I staring?” Bokuto runs a hand over his hair absently, eyes trailing back across the room. 

“Introduce me,” Atsumu says, smirking. 

“Ah - you - I don’t think we - “

“Aren’t you supposed to be my guide? Isn’t it your job to introduce me to people I should know?” 

Bokuto stares at him, torn. “Well, sure. Yeah. That’s - all right. Let’s go.” He looks across the room one more time before he nods, as if to give himself courage. Then he takes Atsumu’s upper arm and nearly drags him away. “He - Akaashi - Lord Akaashi, that is - uh - “ Bokuto pauses and physically stops Atsumu by the arm as he ducks down a little to speak quietly. “So, Akaashi’s betrothal with one of the royal cousins fell through just last week, so no one was sure he’d come today. So just - don’t mention it, all right?”

“I don’t even know ‘im or anythin’ about that.”

Bokuto frowns down at the ground. “Don’t let _me_ mention it then, I guess. He’s - I mean, he doesn’t seem torn up about it, but people have been talking about it a lot, and it sounds - well. I think people have been shitty enough, so just don’t listen to anyone no matter what they say about him, ok? He’s real smart, and he’s kind, and Shouyou likes him too, and - “

“Bo-kun, take a breath. I don’t know anyone here, and I honestly don’t give a shit about what they say.” 

Bokuto shoots him a quick look, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “You’re the best,” he says, before he tugs on Atsumu’s arm again and leads them forward with purpose. 

They blunder right into the middle of the circle of men and women, and Atsumu stumbles to a stop without much grace. The group takes a step back away from him, as if his clumsiness is catching. Though, it could have been due to the way Bokuto looks sternly around at all of them as if daring them to say another word or step closer again.

A hand reaches out to firmly steady Atsumu by the shoulder, and when he looks up, it’s into a pair of pretty blue-green eyes. 

“Are you all right?” 

“Uh - yes. Thank you.” Atsumu pauses, straightening up and fighting to look away from the beautiful man before him. “My apologies.” 

“No apologies necessary.” Akaashi glances next to Atsumu, and the barest hint of a smile lights across his face as he looks at Bokuto. Atsumu swears he hears a few people sigh. He looks back at Atsumu and says, “I must admit that I’ve been hoping to meet you - the man who saved the famous Bokuto Koutarou’s life.” 

Next to him, Bokuto is smiling a soft smile that Atsumu has never seen on his face before. He imagines it’s because that kind of smile probably isn’t ever warranted on a battlefield so much as, perhaps, in quieter places with fewer people around. 

“Hi, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto says quietly. Then he seems to snap out of whatever daze he’s in, straightening his surcoat and taking a surreptitious glance at the people around them, though it’s still a surprisingly stern expression for Bokuto. “Uh - I mean, Lord Akaashi. Good evening.” 

Akaashi’s smile grows before he seems to bite it back. “Sir Bokuto. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I’m glad you returned in good health from your service.”

Bokuto positively beams at the words, and even Atsumu can see his heart is in clear view right there across his face. He doesn’t even feel a hint of secondhand embarrassment for him though. It’s as genuine and sweet as anything Bokuto does, at least off the battlefield, and it’s well-received if the slight tinge of pink on Akaashi’s cheeks means anything.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” Bokuto says. “This is Tsum - Miya Atsumu!” 

“We’ve heard quite a bit about your bravery, Lord Miya,” Akaashi says, and Atsumu flushes at the honorific. 

“Well, ’m not a lord yet,” he says, smiling past his discomfort. “And if it was Bokuto tellin’ the story, ya probably can’t believe half ‘a what he says.”

Akaashi presses his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh, and where his expression is kind, the people around them don’t have the same compulsion to tamper down their reactions. Atsumu gets that feeling again that they’re laughing at him, and it isn’t pleasant. Bokuto swings an arm around his shoulders as he casts a quick glance around, and the laughter dies down quickly. 

“It was a truly remarkable tale indeed,” Akaashi says with a nod. “Even still, it left no doubt of your heroism.” Atsumu’s irritation at the attention from around them softens at the gracious words. “I’d love to hear more about your adventures and wish to extend to you an invitation to dine with me tomorrow.” At a slight gesture, a butler walks forward and holds out a tray with a letter on it. Akaashi picks it up and offers it to Atsumu. “Sir Bokuto is invited, of course, and I’d be delighted if your brother were to join as well.” 

“We’ll be there, Akaashi!” Bokuto says quickly as Atsumu accepts the envelope. 

With a last little sideways smile, Akaashi dips his head in acceptance and bids them farewell. “By your leave, Sir Bokuto, Lord Miya.” 

And then it looks like he walks right out of the party altogether, leaving a gaggle of nobles in his wake, whispering and staring. Bokuto frowns again, and the men and women disperse, darting their eyes away. 

Atsumu looks at the envelope, dark blue to match Akaashi’s outfit, with a pearly white seal stamped with an ornate letter ‘A’. “Did you just sign me up for another fuckin’ party?” he asks, looking incredulously up at Bokuto.

Bokuto tears his eyes away from where Akaashi exited. “What?” 

“I’m not goin’. I hate it here.” Atsumu looks around the room, catching sight of Osamu making his way over. Fucking finally. “I’m just here to sign that contract with Sakusa, and then we’re leavin’.” 

“But Akaashi invited you,” Bokuto says, confusion clear across his face.

“Then _you_ go. Why do I gotta be there?”

“Because he invited you personally.” 

Atsumu scowls, crossing his arms across his chest, holding the invitation with one hand so he doesn’t crush this one. Osamu takes it lightly and looks at the crest. “What does me goin’ to another goddamn party got to do with anything?” Atsumu asks.

Osamu sighs, trying to hand the invitation back, but Atsumu twists way to avoid it. “You’re denser than Toshiko,” he says. He turns briefly to Bokuto. “That’s our cow. She’s terribly stupid.” Bokuto barks out a laugh and then looks at Atsumu apologetically. 

“Hey!”

“Tsum-Tsum,” Bokuto says with a serious tone, though he’s still smiling because he’s a traitor. “You’re the newest celebrity in the kingdom right now. What you do while you’re here in the city these few weeks is important. It’s stupid, I know. I’m the worst at all of this, but it is what it is.” He pauses, and then his expression becomes so earnest it’s almost hard to look at. “You’ve done so much for me already,” he says carefully.

Atsumu, uncomfortable, says, “I don’t know why ya keep makin’ a big deal outta this. You saved my life dozens of times too, ya know.”

“That’s different,” Bokuto replies. 

“It really ain’t a - “

“Atsumu,” Bokuto cuts in, and his gold eyes are round, and there isn’t a smile on his face now, and so Atsumu listens. “I shouldn’t ask you for anything else for the rest of my life after what you’ve done for me, but I’m here asking. Please come to Akaashi’s tomorrow. If you don’t, people around here will eat him alive. And he’ll just take it and be calm about it all and be nice to them anyway, because he’s - well. That aside, Akaashi - he deserves better than that.”

“And me goin’ to his little fancy dinner will make people back off?” Atsumu asks, still confused. 

“I mean, it’ll help, I think.” 

“I still don’t get it,” Atsumu says. “Is he just usin’ me to show these other folks somethin’ then?”

Bokuto straightens and waves his hands quickly in front of him as if to dispel the words. “No! No. He’s not like that at all! No way. It’s - I sent him a letter. When I got back.”

Atsumu lifts a brow and glances at Osamu, who’s watching with amusement written all over his face. “I don’t know what that’s gotta do with anything, Bo-kun, but that sounds pretty racy of ya. Didn’t you say he was betrothed?”

“It wasn’t like that!” Bokuto exclaims, eyes wide. “It’s - we’re friends! Don’t even joke about that or you’ll bring the fucking kingdom down on me.” He rubs a hand behind his neck, straining the sleeves of his surcoat in a way that Atsumu thinks is just unfair. “I just - we write sometimes is all. And we did during the war too. And when I got back, I wanted to tell him I was all right. I told him about you too and what you did, and he wanted to meet you. That’s all. It’s why he was here at all tonight, I think, even though he’s probably still sorting through the whole betrothal thing.” 

Atsumu groans at the increasingly sad look on Bokuto’s face and shoves at Osamu who is looking at him expectantly. “Fine. Fine. One more party, and that’s it!” 

Bokuto and Osamu both look pleased, but Atsumu feels unease and dread still winding in his gut. He’s not blind to the way the nobles around them keep whispering and smiling those weird, calculating smiles. All he wants is to sign some stupid papers and leave this godforsaken city so he can go back home.

///

The next day, Osamu gets sick because he’s a little shit.

“You are not sick,” Atsumu says. He’s still struggling to button up another surcoat over another vest over another goddamn shiny blouse with precious stone cufflinks that probably individually costs more than Toshiko. “You’re a fuckin’ liar.”

But looking down at where Osamu is sitting at the edge of his cot, his satin tunic already darkened in spots from a fever sweat, it’s clear he’s sick as hell. His face is gross and clammy, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion even after a full night of rest, and he hasn’t touched a lick from the huge tray of food delivered to their door. 

They’re staying at a ritzy inn downtown that Sakusa had recommended. Though Bokuto had said they wouldn’t be putting Sakusa out at all if they stayed at that fancy manor, Atsumu had been adamant about sticking to more moderate means and had politely turned down the invitation to lodge there. Bokuto himself would have hosted them, but his own lands are a large holding that neighbors the city, and he prefers to stay with friends when in the city. 

Still, Sakusa had sent a tailor upon their arrival so they’d be stocked with city-appropriate clothing, and he’d had cooks show up to their lodgings at every mealtime with a lavish selection that the Miyas didn’t know what to do with. They ended up wrapping up half the wares and foisting them off to the grubby street kids begging for spare change around town. 

“I’ll be fine,” Osamu says, and Atsumu hates him. He’s definitely sick. Osamu is only graceful like this when he feels absolutely shitty and can’t think straight enough to be his normal little shit self. 

Atsumu groans and shoves at his brother’s shoulder, easily toppling him sideways back onto the bed. “Just shut up and sleep. I’ll ask the innkeeper to send up some tea so you don’t die while I’m gone.” A thought comes to mind. “Hey, do ya think I can beg off from this dinner too? And just say I gotta take care of ya?” 

“You’ve never taken care of me once in your entire miserable life,” Osamu says, though his voice is congested and hard to understand. 

“Hey, I do too take care of you! I’m a good older brother.”

“Older only in age, not in maturity.”

“You know what, fuck off and die.”

Osamu coughs out a laugh into his elbow. “Are you really gonna bail on Lord Bokuto like that? This is why ya don’t have any friends.”

“Fuck you.” 

So Atsumu shows up at the Akaashi manor alone. The footman is less snooty, at least, and just waves him in without looking at the invitation Atsumu was so careful about keeping clean and uncrumpled this time. 

Inside, another footman leads him down a few winding hallways and then into an intimate, though still unnecessarily large, dining room. The ornate and lavishly decorated table is still set for four, he notices, even though Atsumu had sent a footman to let Akaashi know that Osamu had fallen ill.

He soon sees why. To the side is a lounge area where he sees Bokuto, Akaashi, and, to Atsumu’s dismay, Sakusa. They have drinks in hand, and he realizes with an embarrassed rush that he might actually be late, though the invitation had said to meet at this time. 

_Rich people and their secret rules,_ he thinks irritatedly. He should have known that Bokuto wouldn’t be the best guide. Even among soldiers, he was kind of obtuse on social niceties. He’d initially thought it was due to the difference in station, as the other men were regulars or farmers and such, but apparently, Bokuto is just that way in general. 

He holds back a sigh, plasters a smile on his face, and heads over. They shake hands and greet him politely, even though there’s no one here to check and make sure they’re following rich people protocol. 

Atsumu has never been so happy to get a drink in his hand as he is now. He makes a pleased sound at the flavor though, garnering him a strange look from Sakusa. He just raises his brows in response and takes another sip. It’s pretty fine wine even to his untrained tastes.

Dinner is pretty much as awful as Atsumu expected. There are too many forks, lots of people reaching around him to give him new napkins or new glasses, about fifteen tiny plates of food brought out one at a time, and he honestly isn’t even sure what he’s eating. 

Bokuto alternates between grinning at him happily and talking about things Atsumu doesn’t know or care about with the other two.

Overall, it’s strangely quiet with just the four of them. Bokuto’s boisterous storytelling and laughter are the only punctuation in the never-ending run-on sentence of the evening. Akaashi smiles a bit and prompts them all with questions, but he’s reserved and quiet, and Sakusa doesn’t say a goddamn word. 

The high-honcho lord looks down at each dish without expression, holds his silverware and the stems of his glasses lightly with long, slender fingers, and dabs at his face with his napkin after every bite. Atsumu isn’t sure why he’s so annoyed by it - by all of it. 

“Tsum-Tsum!” 

Atsumu snaps to attention, noting vaguely that Sakusa has finally looked up from his place setting. He realizes then that he completely tuned out of the conversation and blushes faintly at the attention. 

Behind him, one of the servers coughs over a laugh. Though Akaashi spares barely a glance over Atsumu’s shoulder, the server excuses himself and leaves the room. It makes Atsumu feel the heat of a blush spread across his face. 

“Sorry. What were you sayin’?” he asks, looking at Akaashi.

Bokuto just laughs next to him, reaching over to clap his shoulder. “We were just wondering about your first impressions at court!” 

Atsumu tries not to scowl at him as he shakes off his broad hand. “It’s - fine,” he says with an annoyed, toothy smile. 

Bokuto chuckles, shaking his head, while Akaashi smiles gently at him as if encouraging him to continue. 

Atsumu casts a quick look at Sakusa, who is, oddly enough, staring at him evenly. “Uh - your party was nice,” he says, because he’s gracious, dammit. Osamu can eat a dick for implying that Atsumu would probably offend everyone at this dinner. 

“Hm,” Sakusa replies. Which, what the fuck kind of response is that. 

“You have a lot of friends,” Atsumu says next for lack of anything else to say. When Sakusa tilts his head to one side in question, Atsumu adds, “At your party. There were a lot of people.”

“We’re not friends,” Sakusa says, setting his fork down. 

“Then who were they all?” 

Sakusa leans away from the server who comes to clear his plate, and then he leans away again disdainfully as another settles his dessert course before him. Akaashi watches, eyes narrowing at the treatment. “They were merely people important enough at court who needed to meet you.” 

“Important people?” Atsumu scoffs. “What makes them so important? How many horses they have? Is there a ranking?” 

He realizes as soon as the words leave his mouth that these are the kinds of barbs he’d let fly among his own people - commoners - and it was probably kind of rude to say in present company. Though he supposes he’s not quite one of them either anymore, or won't be once his time in the city is through and he has a new fiefdom in his name. Then he’ll be lumped in with the Sakusas and the Akaashis of the world. 

Bokuto coughs out another laugh, looking at everyone with darting eyes and a careful smile.

It’s Akaashi who speaks up in the ensuing silence. “Lord Sakusa just means that the guests are those likely to work most with you as a new fief lord,” he says easily. “On your visits to and from the city, you’ll be able to trade and negotiate among them to help your lands prosper.”

“Wait, I have to come back here again?” Atsumu says. He turns and stares at Bokuto, his smile slipping off his face. “What?” 

Bokuto’s eyes go round at the question, and he glances sideways at Akaashi as if for help, before he says, “Yes? I mean, of course! For business!” 

Atsumu feels his vision tunnel in, and part of him recognizes that he’s gripping his fork and knife a little violently. Sakusa’s eyebrows have lifted slightly as he stares back from across the table, but Atsumu can barely focus on him. “I’d rather never come back here,” he says a little desperately. He looks quickly from Sakusa to Akaashi and adds, “No offense.” 

Akaashi smiles again gently. “You could always send a proxy from your town, or hire someone to conduct business for you here in the city. Between Sakusa and myself, I’m sure we can connect you with a suitable liaison.”

“Oh,” Atsumu says, sitting back in his chair, relieved. He sets his fork and knife down gingerly. “Yeah, that - that sounds good.” He laughs lightly to dispel his own unease, but the silence afterward is uncomfortable. 

Atsumu gets the sense that he’s stepped in full shit again. He’d read Bokuto’s missives about what being awarded a title meant for him and his family and his town, but it had all happened so fast - the invitation to travel to the city, the notice of the title transfer. He hadn’t had a chance to really read over the detailed addendums that had been sitting in their room at the inn when he’d arrived before they’d been bombarded by the tailor and then the invitation to Sakusa’s party.

“Uh - so is Miya - Osamu all right?” Bokuto asks. 

Atsumu grins, glad for the subject change. “He’s fine. Just a baby when he’s sick, ya know? Though I guess it hit him pretty hard this morning."

“Oh dear,” Akaashi says, frowning in concern, and Akaashi is a little taken aback. He wasn’t sure that anyone here - except Bokuto, of course - had a lick of compassion for commoners. 

Strangely, Sakusa deigns to speak up. “You should have sent for the royal physicians immediately. Though you initially refused shelter in my home, you are still considered my guests. It wouldn’t do for your brother to fall ill under my care, however remote.” 

“It’s fine,” Atsumu says, the itch of irritation whirring in his gut at the mild rebuke. “We country folk are made of sturdy stuff.”

Sakusa stares at him for a moment, narrowing his eyes, before he says, “I do hope you aren’t relying on country home remedies and well wishes to heal your brother. There is quite a vicious illness spreading this season, and you are both strangers to the city environment.” 

“What’s that supposed ta mean?” Atsumu asks.

Bokuto jumps in, as if hearing the cutting tone spilling into Atsumu’s voice. “We can send someone. Kiyoomi’s got the best physician in town! He has regular appointments all the time, so - ”

“I merely meant that we’ve had great advances in science and medicine in recent years,” Sakusa says, as if Bokuto wasn’t still speaking. Atsumu frowns, but Bokuto cuts himself off, nodding. “I understand that commoners - though I suppose your classification has changed, your upbringing remains as it was - are less inclined to trust in updated remedies.” He pauses, then says, “No offense meant, of course.” 

“Gentlemen,” Akaashi says softly before Atsumu can say another word. “Perhaps we should retire to the drawing room?” Bokuto jumps up, pulling on Atsumu’s arm, and Atsumu ends up literally biting his tongue before he can snap back.

.

It’s late by the time Bokuto takes the fucking hint and grants Atsumu the mercy of closing the night out. 

They hover in the foyer for last goodbyes, Bokuto and Sakusa waiting for the steward to bring their coats. Atsumu didn’t think it was cold enough for that, but what did he know. 

Bokuto has pulled Akaashi to the side a bit, and is bent over slightly and talking quietly. Akaashi has his hands clasped behind him and is listening attentively. Atsumu smirks to himself as he straightens his surcoat.

“I get the sense that I’ve offended you,” Sakusa says stepping up beside him.

Atsumu glances at him. “Huh?” 

“Eloquent,” Sakusa mutters. It’s low enough that Atsumu isn’t sure he was supposed to hear it. 

He does though, and it pisses him off. “What was that, pal? I’d’a thought yer manners classes and such woulda beaten muttering outta ya,” he says, layering on his accent to be as offensive as possible. 

He can recognize that behind his own smile, his tone and his attitude are quickly getting away from him again. But something about Sakusa makes frustration and resentment rise like an inevitable tide up to his throat, spilling vitriol out of his mouth. If Osamu were here, he’d probably be elbowing him hard enough to bruise for a week. If Ma were here, well, Atsumu doesn’t want to think about what expression she’d be wearing. 

“I think, Miya,” Sakusa says slowly, enunciating slowly now as if to lord over his posh accent, “that perhaps you might do well to read up on _etiquette_ lessons yourself now that you’re here in the city. You remind me of Bokuto when he began visiting regularly, saying whatever thoughts first come to mind. But unlike him, you don’t come from a well-respected line that requires the deference he’s afforded, though I suppose his genial nature makes up for the majority of his missteps, even today. Rather, you, in these few weeks of your debut, are likely to come across a number of more traditional gentlemen and ladies who might easily take offense to your candid speech. I have quite a few books I’d be willing to lend to you on the subject, if you’d like.” 

It’s the most he’s ever heard this man say before, and all of it is the shittiest, most condescending gutter muck he’s ever heard. Atsumu nearly spits at him for using the right word he couldn’t come up with earlier. Fuck ‘manners’ and fuck ‘etiquette’ anyway. “Ya know what? If you’d stop lookin’ down your uppity little nose at everyone around you, maybe people would actually want to spend time with ya and not hate every second of it,“ Atsumu hisses. “Just ‘cause you’re rich doesn’t mean people need ta worship the ground you walk on, ya know.”

Sakusa looks momentarily taken aback before he steeples his fingers together beneath his chin. “Interesting,” he drawls, regarding Atsumu beneath hooded eyes that flash with what Atsumu might believe to be annoyance if the man wasn’t an unfeeling scarecrow. 

“What the hell about what I just said was ‘interesting’ to you, _Lord Sakusa?”_

“Well, you live within the smallest plot of lands in the kingdom, appear to be less educated than some of our young children here in the city, and have no sense of decorum or respect even after your years of celebrated service during the war. Yet you clearly have an unfathomable sense of entitlement,” Sakusa says lightly, as if commenting on the weather. He drops his hands and reaches into his pocket for a pair of white gloves. He slides them on carefully, tugging each finger meticulously into place. “I do hope you’re appropriately grateful to Lord Bokuto for how hard he’s vied for your fiefdom, which no one had even heard of before he brought it up in court. It’s clear you have neither the upbringing nor the sophistication to warrant the title being awarded to you. Regardless, I suppose what’s done is done.” 

With that, Sakusa gives him one more blank yet somehow disdainful look before calling out, “Akaashi,” in a curt farewell and turning on his heel and leaving without Bokuto. The footman closes the door behind him with a final, heavy thud.

Atsumu stares at the empty space before him and thinks, with his heart beating a furious tempo in his chest, that he has never hated anyone so much in his entire fucking life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. This was kind of a set-up chapter. The boys are a liiiiittle testy. Next time is much friendlier - I promise!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It seems the elusive Lord Sakusa has spoken to you more times in two days than he has anyone else at court - except for Sir Bokuto of course, but they’re known as close friends, and he allegedly may soon be spoken for, so he doesn’t count.”
> 
> “Wait, doesn’t count for what?” 
> 
> Inunaki tilts his head gracefully to the side, his smile evening out in a way that makes Atsumu even more uncomfortable than before. “No need to play coy, Lord Miya,” he says, as if he knows Atsumu’s not playing at anything and is enjoying his confusion immensely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh. This should have been around 7k words, but look what happened. It’s basically a love letter to awkward and accidentally rude Sakusa from everyone else in this ‘verse. Except Atsumu.
> 
> Anyway, now that I’ve fleshed out this and the last chapter, I have realized that the angsty prompt that inspired this story no longer applies. The storyline got away from me and took a twist in a direction I had not anticipated. I am so sorry for misleading you. From here on out, it’s fluff-fuckin’-city, babes.

When Atsumu gets back to the inn, Inunaki Shion, the innkeeper, greets him with tea in the parlor. Atsumu is in a horrible mood, but Inunaki is easy-going and witty and doesn’t look at him and Osamu like most of the people in this stupid city, so he manages to put on a nice enough smile for him. 

“I hope this isn’t too forward of me, Lord Miya,” Inunaki says, looking at Atsumu out of the corner of his eyes in a way that Atsumu doesn’t quite like, “but I’ve heard you were with Lord Sakusa again this evening.” 

“How’d ya hear about that?” Atsumu asks, wondering if his outburst at the wealthiest man in the kingdom has already spread across the city. These people and their gossip were an animal he was not familiar with in the least, but he absolutely couldn't give less of a shit about it. He didn’t care what these people thought of him, especially when he hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true anyway.

“Oh, I have my sources,” Inunaki replies. He’s somehow polished and warm all at once in a nice way that Atsumu didn’t think anyone here in the city could be. Something about him just puts Atsumu at ease immediately in his presence.

The man’s tone right now, however, makes Atsumu want to be as shitty as possible. “Ah, of course,” he says then, cutting a sharp grin, “gossip mongers.”

Unphased, Inunaki raises one shoulder as if the answer could go either way. “It seems the elusive Lord Sakusa has spoken to you more times in two days than he has anyone else at court - except for Sir Bokuto of course, but they’re known as close friends, and he allegedly may soon be spoken for, so he doesn’t count.”

“Wait, doesn’t count for what?” 

Inunaki tilts his head gracefully to the side, his smile evening out in a way that makes Atsumu even more uncomfortable than before. “No need to play coy, Lord Miya,” he says, as if he knows Atsumu’s not playing at anything and is enjoying his confusion immensely. 

“Yer starting to sound like all the rest of the snooty folks in this place,” he says, squinting suspiciously. 

Inunaki laughs, breaking his impassive demeanor and clasping his hands in front of him. “I only mean that, as the first recipient of an award of both lands and a title in quite some time - and for such a heroic deed on behalf of a court favorite - you’re quite the talk of the town. That alone is enough, but that you and your brother are so handsome is creating quite the stir.”

“Sure,” Atsumu accepts magnanimously with his brightest smile. “But what’s that got to do with Sakusa?”

“Lord Sakusa,” Inunaki rebukes lightly. 

“ _Lord_ Sakusa,” Atsumu says snidely, and Inunaki just smiles fondly at him. 

When they’d first arrived, Osamu had been annoyed at their immediate rapport, saying that it was just what Atsumu needed: someone else who takes his shit with a smile. Atsumu had said he couldn’t help it that he charms the socks off everyone he meets, and he’d gotten a hard punch to the shoulder that had actually fucking hurt.

“Well, a new handsome lord making his debut in town,” Inunaki says with a nod at him, and Atsumu feels his smile widen at the truth of the statement, “hosted by the most eligible bachelor at court,” at which he frowns again under Inunaki’s growing grin. “It makes for quite an exciting bit of news when people are starving for it now that the war is over.” 

“I don’t like what yer spittin’, man.” 

Inunaki laughs. “You should be honored, Lord Miya. Not many receive Lord Sakusa’s favor. He’s known for being quite the recluse, especially after his parents passed away. Your welcome party was the first such event he’s hosted.” 

“I mean, we were at war, so how many parties would he’ve been hostin’ anyway all safe and sound out here?”

“You’d be surprised just how many parties the nobles threw to lift people’s spirits during the war,” Inunaki says quietly. 

“All right. So he threw a party. It seemed more like Bokuto’s party anyway.” 

“Perhaps,” Inunaki allows. “But Lord Sakusa doesn’t typically make appearances even at his own gatherings. Everyone was quite excited that he was present. That, along with news of your intimate dinner this evening, will likely be all anyone will speak of for the rest of the week. Perhaps the month even after you depart.” 

“That’s absurd,” Atsumu says flatly. “It was dinner. He didn’t even say much.” He pauses, thinking of how they ended the evening. He’s not sure how he feels about someone else sticking up for Sakusa, and he tries to ignore the sudden sting of contrition he begins to feel about the fact that he might have been out of line. He finally says, “Look, I don’t really get all this fancy talk. If there’s somethin’ you wanna say, can ya just say it?” 

Inunaki sighs, as if Atsumu’s being particularly difficult. “Perhaps I will just leave you with this. I imagine you’ll receive many more coveted invitations to dine with the elite around town, and it may do you good to accept. But do consider the options that already appear to be available to you - opportunities that are not offered to many others.”

“Still not understandin’ ya here. Is this still about Sakusa - uh - Lord Sakusa?”

“Yes, and I only hope you understand the grace of his favor,” Inunaki says carefully, like he’s not sure now if he’s overstepping. “You’re a good man - even I can tell as much in the few days I’ve been fortunate to host you and your brother here at the inn - and you’re handsome to boot.” He winks, and Atsumu is surprised enough by the flirty gesture from the wealthy man that he laughs. “And despite his reclusive tendencies, many of us do care deeply for our high lord. He’s helped many people across the city - noble and commoner alike. I merely implore you to keep an open mind in his presence as his attention is something he rarely bestows on anyone.” 

Atsumu can’t help it that he’s probably making a disgusted face. Inunaki just smiles kindly at him, pushing the tray of tea in his direction, and tells him to check on his brother.

///

The next morning, Atsumu has a moment of panic when he’s the first one up. He’s not known for being an early bird, despite tending to a farm his entire life, so when he wakes without Ma or Osamu yelling at him or shaking him awake, it’s a bit jarring. 

In the next bed, Osamu has his blanket over his head. 

Atsumu creeps over, something suspiciously like worry crawling in his gut as he tugs the blanket down. Osamu doesn’t even stir, so Atsumu shoves him roughly by the shoulder. “‘Samu!” he yells, panic creeping up his throat.

He gets a flailing smack to the face in retaliation. “The fuck, ‘Tsumu!” Osamu’s voice is hoarse and cracks as he blinks open one eye just enough to glare before he yanks the comforter back over his head. It’s a weak pull, but Atsumu lets him take it.

He sits back, refusing to feel repentant, but he does feel his heart rate slow in relief. “Get up, ya lazy shit. It’s goin’ on nine in the morning,” he says in a more normal tone. 

“Leave me alone for once in yer goddamn life,” Osamu says, his voice muffled beneath the blanket. 

“I’m not gonna feel sorry for you just ‘cause ya sound like death,” Atsumu says snidely. “Ya shouldn’t wallow in yer own filth all day. Go run a bath!” 

Osamu kicks out beneath the covers, but it’s more of a complaining gesture as it’s nowhere near hitting Atsumu. Atsumu’s a bit perturbed because it’s like their roles have been reversed in this moment.

There’s a knock on their door, so he just makes a face that Osamu can’t see and goes to see who’s bothering them so early in the morning.

He’s surprised to see a bright-eyed and smiling Bokuto. “Morning!” he exclaims. There’s a grumble from the bed, and Bokuto’s expression evens out into concern as he peers past Atsumu. “He’s still feeling rough, huh?”

“He’s bein’ dramatic.”

“Shut yer fuckin’ mouth, ‘Tsumu!” Osamu shouts, but it’s still a muffled sound since he’s hiding beneath the blanket. Atsumu frowns, because it’s not like him to show his true shitty self in company.

“Well, I have good news!” Bokuto says, but his smile is hesitant, and Atsumu feels dread creep along his spine. 

“I ain’t goin’ to another party, Bokuto.”

Bokuto laughs. “No, not another party! Uh - “ he pauses. “Well, look. We’re moving you somewhere else! So Osamu can be looked after.” 

“Moving?” Atsumu says. He glances over to where Osamu has pulled the blanket down only enough so he can peer at them over the hem. “We don’t need to move anywhere. He’s fine.” 

Bokuto shoots a quick smile at Osamu before turning back to Atsumu. “Kiyoomi was worried when you said your brother wasn’t faring well.” He raises a hand when Atsumu immediately glares and opens his mouth to protest, saying, “And I was too. If it’s the disease beginning to plague the city, it’ll be good for him to be under the care of a physician and get you into separate rooms. Kiyoomi’s got the best of everything, so - “

“I’m not staying with that pissy - “

“Atsumu,” Bokuto cuts in. 

Atsumu feels a moment of surprise that _Bokuto_ is censoring him, but also a bit of shame at speaking so negatively about his host and someone he knows is Bokuto’s close friend. Not that what he was saying isn’t true, but it probably isn’t the time to say it. 

“Look,” Bokuto goes on. “I can tell you don’t really get along - not yet. But I think it’s a good idea. Kiyoomi is a - a unique guy, but he’s a good one. I promise. People just get the wrong idea about him sometimes. And anyway, I’m staying there too, so we can spend more time together and catch up while we’re both in the city!” 

Atsumu wishes he could be more upset, but Bokuto is looking at him so earnestly and casting concerned glances over his shoulder. He looks back at Osamu who has pulled the covers back overhead again, and he’s still not really complaining, which means he really must feel like shit. 

Before he can even fully get a “yes” out of his mouth, Bokuto is waving a hand and three footmen are walking right past him into the room to begin gathering their things. 

Osamu finally sits up, though he needs a little help to do it, and he’s become so pale that Atsumu can’t find an ounce of regret at agreeing to getting him medical care. 

Then Atsumu realizes he’s not even dressed and quickly pulls some of his clothing away from one of the men with a glare and dashes into the bathroom so he can fix his hair. 

On the way out, he takes a moment to say farewell to Inunaki, but when he casts a knowing look at the footmen’s Sakusa crest and grins, Atsumu scowls and says he’ll be glad to be gone from this place. Bokuto nudges him, so Atsumu grudgingly ends up saying a final thank you and makes a promise to visit before he heads back to Hyogo. 

In the coach, Osamu falls asleep with his head against the window. He’d somehow managed to steal the blanket from their room and is burrowed in it like a mole rat. When they arrive, he blinks glazed eyes at them. “We at another party, ‘Tsumu?” he asks, uncertainty in his voice like he’s confused.

Atsumu tries to swallow down the concern rising in him as Bokuto gives Osamu one last worried glance before hopping out to direct the footmen. “Nah. Wouldn’t subject you to more ‘a that.”

“Wasn’t so bad,” Osamu says. “The food was good.” 

“Ya always think with your stomach,” Atsumu replies. 

“I don’t think I can eat right now,” Osamu says then, and his voice is losing volume, his eyes drifting shut. Atsumu nudges him to keep him awake and helps him out. 

But then there are what look like half a dozen people taking over, ushering Osamu inside, and another half dozen who start wiping down the coach. 

Atsumu looks around in a bit of a daze until he sees Bokuto standing by another coach nearby. “Wait, where’re you goin’?” 

Bokuto at least has the grace to look guilty as he says, “I have a bit of business to take care of. I won’t be gone long though!” He pauses. “I - uh - invited Akaashi over for dinner. But it’s not a party!” 

Atsumu scowls. “I’m not third- and fourth-wheelin’ with Sakusa for you again,” he says. 

“We’ll talk about it later, all right?” Bokuto says, acting shifty as fuck and ducking quickly into the coach before Atsumu can respond.

As Atsumu watches the dust kick up in his wake, he only realizes he’s just standing there stewing with annoyance when someone clears their throat behind him. There, standing in the doorway is the last person on earth he wants to see. 

“I’m pleased you’ve decided to accept my invitation to reside here,” Sakusa says. 

Atsumu has a number of things he’d like to say in response, but he swallows them down. He knows Osamu is being looked after already, probably leagues better than he would’ve been back home or even at the inn. Just this morning alone, Osamu’s health has taken a turn so quickly that even Atsumu’s flash of annoyance at staying here and having to be around Sakusa is overwhelmed by his gratitude.

When he opens his mouth to respond, he notices Sakusa’s shoulders tighten and feels the unwanted sour taste of guilt in his mouth. “I appreciate your hospitality,” Atsumu says simply, forcing a smile to his face. 

“Oh, he’s happy to have you.” The man who bumps Sakusa as he forces himself next to the man in the doorway has a kind face and light brown hair. 

Sakusa frowns to the side at the newcomer before turning back to Atsumu. “This is my steward, Komori Motoya.” 

“Pleasure to meet you, Lord Miya,” Komori says with a light bow. 

Sakusa shoots Komori an odd warning look before saying, “Despite how he looks, Komori is reliable and will be helpful in attending to your needs during your stay here.”

“No need to flatter me, Kiyoomi,” Komori says, and Atsumu is surprised at the familiarity between them. Komori seems to notice and says, “We grew up together. I know all of his most embarrassing childhood stories, so he has to be nice to me.”

Strangely, Sakusa’s lips quirk up into a small smile that looks so foreign on his face that Atsumu can’t help that he stares. At the attention, Sakusa schools his expression, saying quietly as he tips his head back to Komori, “Please try to pretend to be professional while we have guests, Motoya.” Then he walks off.

Komori just laughs. “He’s a joy, really.” He glances at Sakusa’s retreating form before turning back to Atsumu. “He’s really glad you and your brother will be lodging here. The city can be - well, a bit unkind. With the illness spreading as well, Kiyoomi was particularly concerned for you.”

“He doesn’t seem to be the worryin’ type,” Atsumu says, trying not to scowl.

Komori shrugs. “It’s actually all he does, really. As the high lord, the welfare of the city’s noble class is in his hands. It’s rather a lot for one man.” He shrugs. “But he’s doing well enough, I suppose. And at least Lord Bokuto’s in town. Kiyoomi’s always happy when his friend is here.”

Atsumu bites down on a laugh because he’s not trying to be rude, despite what people at home always seem to say. “That was a happy Sakusa?” he asks doubtfully.

Komori just tips his head lightly, but something in his smile reminds Atsumu of Inunaki. It’s at once scrutinizing and fond as he looks at Atsumu. “He takes some getting used to, I suppose,” is all he says. 

///

That afternoon, Bokuto still isn’t back. Sakusa had been holed up in an office all day seeing to caller after caller for business, and Atsumu had stayed well clear of that area of the house. 

He’d initially been in a nearby room having tea and feeling strange about doing nothing, but people kept wandering in asking to join him and talking about the weather and the landscaping and how generous Sakusa is that he’d finally excused himself to look for the washroom and just never went back. 

After checking in with the physician upstairs, and while Osamu is passed out in his room, Atsumu is restless with boredom. He spends some time in his own quarters looking at a few books stacked there - on etiquette, for fuck’s sack - before deciding to poke around the manor. 

He eventually happens upon Komori as he wanders down a hallway full of gigantic paintings opposite vast windows. 

“May I assist you with anything, Lord Miya?” Komori asks, pulling to a stop before him. 

“Uh - I’m good. Just lookin’ around,” he says. He looks from Komori to the paintings and back. “That’s not against the rules or anything, is it?” 

Komori smiles, shaking his head. “You have free reign of the manor, of course.” He gets an odd look on his face then, before it settles back into a smile. “If you’re in need of something to occupy you, Lord Sakusa’s gardens are quite well known for their beauty.”

“Gardens, huh?” Atsumu says. “He doesn’t seem the type to care about flowers.” 

Komori’s smile softens. “He wasn’t always interested in them, or in the manor’s landscape. But his mother could always be found working in the gardens, and when his parents passed, I suppose it became a priority to care for them in her stead.”

Unsure of what to say to that, Atsumu looks up and down the hallways like he might find a way out of this conversation. The steward seems just fine watching him flounder, so Atsumu finally sighs, saying, “Well, where are they then?”

When he finally makes it outside, he stares with reluctant awe at the grand topiaries shaped like animals and more abstract figures. Across the expanse of land, he’s frankly amazed by the array of colors of the blooming flowers arranged so meticulously that they create patterns and images like paintings. They’re interspersed with shaded areas of wispy trees and taller arrangements and plants that seem like they’re from worlds away.

The fresh, perfumed scent of all the flowers and herbs, the spirited activity of the birds and insects flitting by with innocent life almost makes him forget he’s in the city at all - that he’s away from his home and everything he’s ever known. In its strangeness, he finds that he’s not so anxious, that he doesn’t feel so wrong-footed. It’s refreshing. 

As he rounds the next corner around a copse of trees, he stops short when he sees a familiar figure on his knees right there on the ground. Sakusa has on a very elaborate outfit that looks specially tailored for gardening. He wears cream linen trousers and a matching tunic overlaid with a surprisingly sensible-looking brown vest, long gloves up to the elbow, and sturdy but worn boots are tucked rather daintily under him. 

Atsumu feels a strange wash of uncertainty as he stares at the dirt and grass stains on Sakusa’s knees and tunic, at the light sheen of sweat on his brow, and the easy and relaxed expression on his face. 

It’s like he’s looking at an entirely different person. There’s something oddly vulnerable about the care Sakusa takes with each leaf and stem, the way his long fingers, even covered with gloves, are gentle and deliberate. He periodically picks up a small paintbrush from a bit of canvas laid out covered with a number of other fine tools, and he dips its point into the blossoms. It’s just like what they do at home on the farm for some of the more stubborn crops that need hand pollinating. 

Atsumu clears his throat and bites back a laugh at the small jump of surprise he causes. Sakusa whips his head to catch sight of Atsumu where he stands leaning against a willow tree. He looks strangely off kilter at the intrusion, but he quickly schools his expression again into the blank one that Atsumu is most familiar with. He kind of feels sorry for barging in now when the man had looked so at ease just a moment before.

“Mind if I join ya?” Atsumu finds himself asking. He’s not sure why he’s bothering. He should have just turned right around and found another part of the garden. But it’s too late now, and he’s not too worried about being turned down since Sakusa’s a polite little lord and wouldn’t be rude enough to dismiss him. 

Instead of speaking, Sakusa stares at him for a moment before gesturing to the space next to him. 

Atsumu walks over and hovers, unsure if he’s going to make a fool of himself again if he sits down in the uppity clothes he’s in. After a moment of no guidance or hint of what’s proper from his host, Atsumu shrugs and kneels down to get a better look at Sakusa’s careful ministrations. 

“This is a bit different from your farm work,” Sakusa says after an awkward moment of silence. He glances at Atsumu out of the corner of his eye before redirecting his attention back to the pink and purple flowers just starting to blossom beneath his hands. 

Atsumu is immediately rankled by that, but he takes a breath as he watches Sakusa use that little paintbrush. He thinks suddenly about what Bokuto had said earlier about Sakusa being _unique_ and a good man. He thinks about how Inunaki had said Sakusa is a bit of a recluse even among the nobility and to try to give him a chance. And at that moment, something in the tense silence between them and the self-conscious way Sakusa keeps shooting him little looks makes Atsumu’s perspective shift, like things are beginning to come into focus.

He wonders suddenly if maybe it isn’t his own lack of wealth that makes Sakusa such an asshole to him. Maybe he’s just an asshole to everyone. The idea of it is actually amusing enough that Atsumu makes himself take a second breath to stamp down on his frustration.

When he feels he can control his tone, he says, “Did you mean that as an insult?” 

Glancing at him out of the corner of his eye again, Sakusa’s eyebrows rise a bit toward his hairline as if he’s surprised. “No.”

When no other explanation is offered in the ensuing pregnant moment of silence, Atsumu prompts, “What’d ya mean then?”

Sakusa blinks down at the clipped stem between his fingers a few times as if confused. “Exactly what I said.” 

Atsumu scrunches up his face, conflicted between feeling affronted and confused himself. “That this dainty gardening is more - more _refined_ than farm work or somethin’?”

Sakusa’s hands still over the plant, and then he carefully places the shears down and turns so he’s facing Atsumu there in the dirt. “Are you determined to take everything I say as an insult?” He doesn’t pause to let Atsumu respond, instead continuing right on to say in a clipped tone, “I merely meant that gardening of this type serves differently than what you might be accustomed to in tending to crops on your farm.” He pauses again, looking down at his hands. “I admit, it is indeed delicate work, but it is also perhaps less of a valuable pursuit. Trimming and pollinating these plants to draw out the healthiest blossoms or a new strain of color or their purest scents neither feeds my household nor improves it. It is simply an activity of vanity - one without purpose or function.” 

Atsumu watches as a frown creases his brow and feels a bit bad then for assuming the worst. The way Sakusa speaks is as if he’s had to defend himself on this topic before, yet it’s clear that he enjoys the hobby. It seems clear to Atsumu then that Sakusa might have come out here after seeing to business earlier in the day to find a little bit of solace.

More quietly, Sakusa says, “It’s a useless, sentimental frivolity, I suppose.” With that, he turns away and replaces the paintbrush in hand for a pair of shears, his motions brisk like he’s annoyed. Under his breath, he mutters, “I’m unclear as to why everything I say has to have a double meaning to everyone.” 

It just sounds so petty and whiney that Atsumu laughs loudly in response. It’s just like all of those other times he’s heard Sakusa mutter rude things to himself, and Atsumu half wonders if the man truly doesn’t realize that other people hear him sometimes. 

Atsumu finally commits and sits back on his ass, pulling his knees up so he can wrap his arms around them. He looks around the garden, feeling Sakusa’s surprised gaze on him, like he didn’t expect Atsumu to stay. 

Atsumu supposes he’s tried to run away every time the man had approached or spoken to him, but it’s actually been Sakusa who’d been the successful one at leaving first. 

Atsumu raises his brows back at him, smiling easily to throw him off further. 

In return, Sakusa’s dark eyes are bright and direct in the late afternoon light, and it suddenly feels like a lot of attention all at once. Atsumu feels a bit like he’s being watched from a distance and just keeps smiling past the strange and warm kind of discomfort rising his chest. 

“It’s ‘cause you’re the richest man in town,” Atsumu says in answer to the muttered question. 

Sakusa makes a small huffing noise through his nose like he dislikes the response. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything. My wealth doesn’t make me more or less than any other a man.” He shoots a quick glance up at Atsumu as if to gauge for an insulted reaction, but Atsumu’s smile just grows instead.

Atsumu shifts to lean back on his hands, looking lazily up at the clear blue sky. “Seems to me that the nobility rip you apart as much as they do the poorest man in town,” he says. When he looks back, Sakusa is still watching him. “That’s me,” he adds in a joking tone with his most charming grin. 

He might be damn near going blind, but he swears he sees a hint of red spread across Sakusa’s cheeks before he looks away. It makes Atsumu feel strange, and a little proud, about finally getting under the man’s skin - this time in perhaps a positive way.

“Anyway,” Atsumu says. “Maybe tending to this pretty little garden _is_ vain and all, but I don’t think it’s without purpose. I wouldn’t’a thought you’d be into this sort of thing, but it’s actually really nice out here. Pretty. Peaceful.” 

Sakusa doesn’t say anything else and seems to be incredibly focused on what he’s doing. 

After a while, Atsumu realizes he’s just sitting there, silently watching while the man snips gently at plant stems and brushes his little paintbrush carefully into flower blossoms. 

He sighs and slowly pulls up to a stand. Sakusa glances up at him only briefly as Atsumu gives him a little wave and walks off. 

If he smiles a bit to himself when he feels the hair rise on the back of his neck like he’s being watched on his way back into the manor, well, there’s no one else around to call him out on it. 

///

That evening before dinner, Atsumu wanders over to Osamu’s room. Though the physician has said his brother hasn’t gotten any worse, he hadn’t been doing so great this morning, and Atsumu has had a specter of concern hanging over his head all day. 

Atsumu knocks and then eventually just walks into the room. Osamu is curled up on his side, surrounded by pillows and smothered in blankets, but his face is pale from what Atsumu can see from the entryway. 

“Ya doin’ all right in there, ‘Samu?” he asks, his voice sounding too loud in the expansive room. 

It’s as grand as the one he’s staying in, with polished and nicely sculpted wood furniture, heavy drapes around the too-large four-poster bed, and an entire adjoining room with a lounge area. The fireplace is going across from the bed, and Atsumu unbuttons the top two buttons of his surcoat at how warm it is in here.

“‘Samu?” he says again, stepping closer. 

Osamu shifts, turning slightly to look at him. Atsumu looks at the glassiness of his eyes and the flush of his cheeks and feels worry start to choke him. Osamu rarely gets sick. It’s usually Atsumu who fell ill when they were kids, and even when they were older, though he’d usually just put on dramatics to try to get out of doing the chores sometimes so Osamu would have to do them instead. Seeing his brother like this now, completely incapacitated and staring distantly around the room as if he can’t find Atsumu within it, makes Atsumu himself feel a little sick. 

He goes and takes a seat on the bed, and Osamu’s eyes finally land on him. “”Tsumu,” he says, and Atsumu can barely even hear him. He doesn’t say anything else, just closes his eyes.

Atsumu pats over what he thinks is his chest above the covers. “You all right, little bro?” he asks.

At that, Osamu’s eyes drift open again, and he somehow still is able to glare despite how awful he clearly feels. “You’re older by seven minutes, stupid.” 

The retort makes Atsumu laugh a little louder than is probably warranted, mainly because he’s relieved to hear it. “Whatever. They treatin’ you ok? Seems like you’re enjoying the fancy life over here.” 

“‘M fine. Stop worryin’,” Osamu mutters. Then he shifts. “Can ya get me another blanket though? It’s cold in here. House ‘s too big to keep warm, huh?” 

Atsumu presses his fingertips to his own temple, where sweat is beginning to drip, but he nods and says, “Yeah yeah. I’ll just ring the valet over for Prince ‘Samu over here.”

Osamu has a hint of a smile on his face before it evens out, and he seems to slide right back asleep. Atsumu watches him, not sure how long he just sits there looking down at his brother, worry slowly creeping closer to fear. But then he shakes himself and gets up to search around the in the drawers nearby. He finds a heavy blanket and settles it carefully over Osamu, who doesn’t stir again. 

///

Dinner that evening isn’t so bad. Bokuto’s in such a good mood with Akaashi joining them, and Atsumu is less self-conscious for some reason, that it actually goes by rather quickly. 

Sakusa is there, and Atsumu thinks briefly of Inunaki’s words about the lord rarely making appearances. Maybe his gaze wanders to him every so often, but Sakusa is as quiet as ever.

After dinner, Sakusa declines to join them for drinks, saying he has more work to catch up on. Bokuto begs him not to work too late, but Sakusa merely dips his head in acknowledgment before taking his leave. 

Atsumu, looking back at Bokuto’s bright gaze and Akaashi’s welcoming smile, says, “I’m just gonna go.” 

“What?” Bokuto says, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Why?”

“I think I’ll - uh - retire early,” he says, and Akaashi looks like he’s biting back a smile. 

Bokuto groans at him before turning to Akaashi. “Well, you’re not gonna leave me on my own, are you, Akaashi?” 

“I suppose I can join you for a bit,” Akaashi says. 

Atsumu bids them farewell, but it really is early as hell, so he decides to go wander around the gardens. It’s nice out, and there are lamps lit across the grounds giving an almost surreal glow around the manor.

Ma and Osamu always say he’s a no-good sneak, but he can’t help it that he’s naturally curious. And anyway, he’s not actually trying to eavesdrop this time. It just so happens that, on his way back to the manor, he hears voices on the patio. When he peers around a tree in the darkly lit corpses of trees closest to it, he sees Bokuto sitting next to Akaashi on one of the stone benches there by the fountain.

It’s sweet, he thinks, looking at them there leaning toward one another like they can’t help it.

“I’ve been the happiest I’ve ever been these days,” Bokuto is saying. His voice carries in the stillness out here, and Atsumu just grins to himself at the ever-present earnest tone. “I’m here staying with Sakusa, and Tsum-Tsum and his family will be taken care of now. But I’m happiest to spend time with you, Akaashi, now that I’m back.”

Akaashi smiles, looking away politely. “I’m pleased to spend time with you as well, Lord Bokuto. We were all worried for your safety and health while you’ve been gone.” 

“That isn’t what I mean,” Bokuto says. He slowly exhales a long breath before nodding to himself, like he’d done in the ballroom the other day before bringing Atsumu to meet Akaaashi for the first time. Then unbuttons his surcoat beneath Akaashi’s confused gaze and pulls a stack of what looks like a bunch of ragged letters tied together with a bit of string. 

“Are those - “

“They’re your letters,” Bokuto says. “Every one you sent to me during the war.”

“You saved them?” Akaashi asks, and his eyes are wide, his expression more open than Atsumu has ever seen.

“Of course I did. They got me through a lot of tough times during the war,” Bokuto replies. He pulls one letter that is at odds with the others, perhaps more ragged still, though it’s in the black and yellow and white colors of Bokuto’s own house. “This one, though, is one I’ve held onto for a while. It’s one I wrote for you.” He hands it over to Akaashi, who takes it gingerly, as if afraid of what it might contain. “I’ve had it for years. It - it says everything I’ve never had the bravery to say to you in person, Akaashi,” Bokuto says, staring at it in Akaashi’s hands. 

When Akaashi looks up, his eyes are bright. “What are you - “

Bokuto clears his throat, his voice shifting to a brisker, tense tone, though he continues to stare down at the unopened letter. “I ran an important errand this morning. The first thing I did when I got into town was send a missive to Shouyou. I wanted to ask - I know your father recently passed away, and you had had Shouyou stand in his place for the dissolvement of your betrothal. And I - well, I didn’t want to approach you formally until I knew we’d have his blessing, but I intend to seek a courtship - for your hand, if you’d allow it.” 

“You - you asked Prince Hinata to permit you to court me?”

“I asked him if he would formally support the courtship, and he agreed. He said he’d be open about his approval if you - well. I know the folks here in the city can be - they’re often vicious and cruel. Sakusa has to deal with them all the time. And the last thing I wanted was for you to be at their mercy because I overstepped like I usually do. So this isn’t me asking yet, Akaashi.” Bokuto’s voice has picked up a tone of urgency, his words spilling out like he can’t control them any longer, and Atsumu finds himself grimacing fondly as he watches, trying to not laugh. “I wanted to check with you first, because I don’t want to make things harder on you than they already have been. This me just hoping you’ll consider me, that if there aren’t any barriers in our way, now that I’m home, and now that you’re not betrothed to anyone else, that you might agree, and - “

“Yes,” Akaashi blurts out, surprisingly loud in the night. It’s enough to interrupt Bokuto’s devolving rambling. “I would - I’d like that. More than anything.” He’s smiling tremulously, but then he frowns again, and Atsumu can almost see Bokuto on the edge of heartbreak at the slightest shift in Akaashi’s expression. “Are you sure that you - I didn’t wait for you, Lord Bokuto. I should have - “

“None of that matters!” Bokuto exclaims, dispelling the idea so forcefully that Akaashi sits back in surprise. “When I got home, Shouyou told me what happened - that your father had pressured you into the betrothal due to his own debts and the need to absolve them. And I’ve heard the rumors about the dissolvement, about what happened.”

Akaashi looks away. “It’s shameful. I was a coward.” 

Bokuto reaches out to tip Akaashis chin up with a finger, looking at him in that sweet, wholehearted way that is so purely Bokuto, and Atsumu can’t help but smile at them. He doesn’t consider himself particularly soft, but he feels warm looking at them there underneath the dim lamplight. 

“Akaashi, you weren’t a coward,” Bokuto says firmly. “I know you, have known you for so long. Your father asked you to make an impossible choice, and you did it out of love for him, even when he didn’t deserve it. You came clean to Lord Ogawa once your father passed away, to ensure he would make the right choice for himself with the truth at his disposal. It was awful of him to spread cruel rumors about you, but it was his own stupid choice to decide that wealth meant more to him than being fortunate enough to court you, and he’s an idiot for it.”

“He isn’t, Lord Bokuto,” Akaashi argues, his voice thick with emotion. “You should consider the facts around his decision before you make your own. It was my own choice to go along with the deception, and the things he said about me are not just rumors because of it. Much of my wealth has been squandered by my father’s gambling. I can no longer add to the prosperity of the household I marry into while I strive to build up my own from the ground up. I would be the very burden that Lord Ogawa said I would be and - ”

“Please stop,” Bokuto cuts in, and Akaashi is immediately quiet at the request. Bokuto brushes a thumb over his cheek. “You’re more than your title, your lands, your reputation. You know I don’t care for those things.” 

“Perhaps you should,” Akaashi says quietly. “I’m not sure you realize what you’re asking, Lord Bokuto, or what the repercussions would be for you if you pursue this. I was selfish earlier, when I said that I wanted - when I can’t - “

“Then be selfish, Akaashi,” Bokuto says beseechingly. “Just once. You’ve done everything your father ever asked of you in the time we’ve known each other. More than anyone should be asked to do.” He pauses, taking a breath and sitting back as he drops his hand from Akaashi’s face. “If the war has taught me anything, it’s that I’m lucky for the time I have here. When I left to serve my duty, I remember thinking that I’ve lived a life I’m proud of, and that I wanted nothing more than to give my life serving my kingdom by doing what I’m best at as a knight and as a commander.” When he meets Akaashi’s gaze again, he’s smiling that soft smile that Atsumu has only ever seen him wear for Akaashi. “But I almost died there, if not for Atsumu - alone and scared for the first time in my life. And all I could think in that moment was that I had one regret - that I didn’t court you while I had the chance or tell you plainly how I felt in all of those letters I wrote to you. I’m so mad at myself for holding back. Because I realized I was scared of leaving you behind, and I didn’t want the guilt on my conscience that you might mourn for me if I was killed. But I’m here now, finally, selfishly asking you in turn to be selfish with me, if that’s what you want. Because we’re lucky for the time we have here, Akaashi, and I don’t want to waste another minute of it being without you.”

Even from where he stands, Atsumu can see the moment Akaashi’s eyes finally spill over. Bokuto’s hands are already there, thumbs brushing the tears away on Akaashi’s cheeks, but it’s a nice surprise when Atsumu sees Akaashi lean forward first, his eyes already closed, trust implicit, as Bokuto meets him halfway in a kiss.

///

Atsumu is as quiet as he can be when he sneaks away, but he’s almost startled enough to shout when he rounds the corner around the patio and runs right into someone. 

Instinct doesn’t kick in until a moment later, and he’s shoving his assailant roughly against the brick of the manor wall with one hand, the other going to the empty place where his knife should be. Damn these fancy clothes. 

But then he realizes with a start that it’s Sakusa he’s holding captive, the man’s eyes wide in the light shining down through the window above them. Sakusa has his hands raised as if to say he isn’t a threat, and he’s tense and still beneath the firm hand Atsumu presses heavily into his chest. 

“Oh shit,” Atsumu whispers, stepping back to release him. 

Sakusa stares at him as he slowly lowers his hands. “I - I apologize for startling you,” he says falteringly. 

“No I - uh - “ Atsumu laughs quietly and gestures for Sakusa to follow him further away, cognizant of Bokuto and Akaashi around the corner. 

As they walk along the side of the manor, Atsumu beats down the urge to make excuses for himself, feeling strangely caught out. But then Sakusa says, “If it makes you feel any better, I was eavesdropping as well.” He looks at Atsumu sidelong, and the shadows beneath the bright moonlight somehow serve to soften his features rather than harden them. “You might be surprised to hear it, but nobles tend to be thirsty for gossip fodder.”

Atsumu stops in his tracks, staring, and it takes a moment for the other man to halt for him. When Sakusa looks at him in askance, Atsumu says, “Sakusa, was that _joke?_ ”

Sakusa bites his lip, but he looks smug as he tilts his head to beckon Atsumu to continue walking with him along the gravel path around the manor. Atsumu laughs and jogs to catch up.

A short moment later and apropos of nothing, as if it’s been top of mind for a while, Sakusa says suddenly, “I apologize if I have come across as rude to you, since you’ve been here.” 

“Oh,” Atsumu says, surprised, then he laughs. “You really have! Royal levels of shitty, even.” 

“You may not believe me, but that wasn’t my intention,” Sakusa says, but his eyes are a bit wide at Atsumu’s language. 

Atsumu waves off the apology. “It’s fine. I haven’t been the best guest anyway. Let’s call it even.” 

Sakusa still looks faintly embarrassed, but then he seems frustrated, as if he doesn’t mean to feel that way. “I hope you know how sincerely grateful I am that my best friend is alive. That you saved him, even at the risk of your own life,” he says after a moment, his voice hesitant. “I’ve known Bokuto since we were young. ” 

When he stops speaking, Atsumu thinks that’s it, however off-topic it is, but when he looks over, Sakusa is staring straight ahead into the dark he’s trying to figure out what to say. Atsumu waits, filled with curiosity. 

Eventually, Sakusa says, “Bokuto’s family is like mine. We’re both from old money with long lineages and protected by a history of royal favor. Though where he accepts it with easy grace and seems to be able to differentiate between friends and - well, others who may have ulterior motives for friendship due to our standing, I’ve never had that natural insight into people.” He smiles absently. “Where every action and every word is used like a weapon here at court, Bokuto is like a breath of fresh air. He has always been uninterested in such things - happy with his life in a way that seems so at odds with the way the world works. He wears his heart on his sleeve and is easy enough to get along with - even for me. His is unfailingly _good_ \- kind, loyal, and brave, and beloved by everyone, despite his clear lack of propriety. He is, perhaps, one of the few people I truly trust. When he isn’t visiting, it’s easy to forget that there’s more to life than currying favor and earning a profit - that there are people in the world who see past such things.”

Atsumu, rather at a loss, just nods slowly. “Well, you seem pretty good at telling people apart, if Bokuto’s your friend, that is.” 

The corner of Sakusa’s mouth tips up, and Atsumu feels strangely proud at the reaction he’s garnered. “That’s gracious of you to say. I thought it strange, at first, that you were the man Bokuto spoke so highly about.” Before Atsumu can feel too offended, Sakusa shakes his head, saying, “Not because you are - were - a commoner. I mean in the sense that you’re as outspoken as he is. Perhaps more so, even, especially in terms of your distaste for the nobility. Everyone I’ve ever known has only cared about wealth and status - commoners included, and nobles even more so. I had initially assumed you had been using Bokuto for his wealth and station.” 

“What the hell, Sakusa?” Atsumu says, staring at him. “I thought you said you weren’t tryin’ ta insult me?”

“No offense meant, Miya,” Sakusa says lightly, and Atsumu feels bewildered and amused all at once that Sakusa has dropped his honorific. “It’s the natural way of our society, I suppose. But it came as quite a surprise to me that Bokuto wasn’t the only one uninterested in such things - that he found another who genuinely cared nothing for it. Someone who clearly despised the idea of playing into the court’s games or parsing out meaning behind the gossip. Someone who for once wasn’t trying to leverage those around him to elevate his own status in any way.” 

“All right,” Atsumu says slowly, still a bit lost. “So...I’m not money grubbin’ like everyone else, and you were taken aback by that?”

Sakusa shakes his head, as if dispelling his own train of thought. “I merely meant to explain the mindset - however unfair it was - behind how I’ve treated you. My suspicion of you was unfounded, and I sincerely apologize.”

Surprised, Atsumu looks down at the ground as they walk, the soft sound of their boots on the pebbled path a soothing background sound as he takes that in. Sakusa seems content to let the silence grow, but Atsumu searches for how to respond.

Finally, he says, “You know, you’re not so bad yourself, for a noble.” Sakusa cuts him another of those small sideways smiles, and Atsumu feels his words aren’t yet enough. He goes on, saying, “I mean, you hosted me despite your suspicions and protective instinct for your friend, and put us up at Inunaki’s inn when I was rude as hell and refused your offer. And you threw that big, fancy party even though I hear ya hate that kinda thing, so that was a nice thing to do for me on Bokuto’s behalf. And - well, you’re takin’ good care of Osamu. I was gettin’ worried about him, if I’m bein’ honest, but I didn’t know what - well. I guess I’m sayin’ that you’re alright, in the end.”

With the evidence laid bare in so many words, Atsumu unfortunately does feel more of that sour taste of guilt in his mouth at how he’s responded to Sakusa this whole time. In response though, Sakusa looks uncomfortable, shifting so he can fold his hands together behind his back and stare blankly straight ahead. 

When he next speaks, it’s like he’s trying to steer them away from the topic of his kind deeds and says, “I meant to have Komori provide you with some books from the library about smaller fiefs in the kingdom. They may prove helpful to you as you take on the responsibility for the Hyogo fief. And I also - ” He pauses then and clears his throat as if self conscious. “When Bokuto first came to me in hopes of finding a way to thank you for saving his life, I looked into the history of your family and lands. I have copious notes on Hyogo’s history and the families from your territory, if you’d like to see them.”

Startled at the fact that Sakusa might know more about him and even his entire family and history than he’d originally let on, Atsumu says, stuttering slightly, “Uh - sure. That - I guess that’d be helpful, considering I don’t really know much about running anything bigger than a farm on the ‘smallest plot of land in the kingdom.’” His grin then is teasing as he echoes Sakusa’s words from the other night. 

Sakusa eyes him, as if not sure if he’s being offensive, and Atsumu feels a bit for him then. He may actually be a little dense about people after all if he’s confused by Atsumu of all people. “The library is at your disposal,” Sakusa says eventually. “But I’ll send recommended titles and my notes on Hyogo to you.”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that ya keep pushing your books on me,” Atsumu says with a small laugh. “It’s like you wanna test if I can actually read or somethin’.”

“That isn’t what I - “

“Oh - I’m kiddin’, I’m kiddin’. I’m starting to get the idea that you’re only accidentally an asshole,” he says, and Sakusa just keeps looking at him warily, but he looks strangely relieved that Atsumu hasn’t taken offense. A thought comes to mind. “Hey - why do you have so many books on manners - _etiquette,_ I mean - anyway? Don’t think I didn’t see a few of ‘em stacked on the desk in my room, ya subtle jerk.”

They’ve walked all the way around the grounds by now, and they finally pull to a stop on the front driveway. Now that it’s brighter here, Atsumu knows it’s not his imagination when he clearly sees the blush on Sakusa’s face. “My parents procured them for me prior to my debut. I - the intricacies of noble society have never been intuitive for me.” 

“Just noble society, huh?” Atsumu says, grinning. 

“Society in general, then,” Sakusa says easily, as if stating fact. “I suppose you’re as well aware of that as the rest of the city by now.”

And there belying his dry delivery is a teasing tone that makes Atsumu stare at him, his smile slowly slipping off his face as he watches the light catch and hold in the shine of Sakusa’s dark, amused eyes in the lamplight. 

Atsumu is mildly unnerved then at the feeling of an increasingly persistent tug in his chest, drawing something from him that maybe had never been there before, and lighting him up with warmth in a way he’s not familiar with. 

He laughs to smother the feeling, but it lingers there, growing steadily inside him like a rising tide. “Ya aren’t that bad, I guess,” is all he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d love to hear your thoughts on this! I wasn’t sure it’d be anyone’s cup of tea but mine and was gonna pull it. Lol! But here it is. It’s an interesting exercise - fitting these characters into historical-era roles, especially when I did not do any research and am not actually sure what period this is supposed to fall into. So hopefully it’s ok.
> 
> I can’t wait to post the next chapter though. It’s even SOFTER. Hopefully not as boring. And I’m actually excited about it. Haha!
> 
> P.S. If you’re on Twitter, come say hi - [@meekswrites](https://twitter.com/meekswrites)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu tilts his head to the side, letting his smile grow as Sakusa watches him. “Well, what do _you_ want?” 
> 
> Sakusa blinks at him blankly, as if the question is such a foreign one to him. 
> 
> This is the richest man at court - young, well regarded, and, Atsumu can admit more easily now, handsome. He has everything a man could ever need, people at his beck and call, the wealthiest citizens coming to him for answers and advice, a kingdom in the palm of his hand. 
> 
> And yet here he is, thrown for a loop at a simple question about what he might want for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very long, but I just wanted to finish this. It’s not my best, but I hope you like it anyway! I ended up condensing the story down from what I’d envisioned for it. This really was supposed to be quite brief, but, yet again, here we are tens of thousands of words later. lol

The next morning, Atsumu gets up early to check on Osamu. He’s surprised to find Sakusa standing there in conversation with the physician, Dr. Tsubasa. When they see him approach, they both get quiet, and Atsumu swallows past the flash of fear that threatens to choke him.

“How is he?” he asks, and voice is not as even as he’d like. 

Sakusa is looking at him carefully. “Your brother seems to have taken a turn for the worse overnight,” he says. “I just sent a courier to request Prince Hinata to have his physician visit for a second consultation.” 

Atsumu stares at him, distantly registering Dr. Tsubasa bowing and heading back into Osamu’s room. “I - I - “ he pauses, trying to gather his thoughts as he turns to look at the closed door of Osamu’s room. He’s trying to digest what Sakusa is saying, what it means, what he should do next. 

“Try not to worry yet, Lord Miya. It’s early still, and this particular illness tends to have a lasting effect before it runs its course, at least from what we’ve seen so far from patients here in the city. Miya - Osamu is holding steady this morning despite the high fever and delirium from last night, according to Dr. Tsubasa. We’ll stay vigilant, and he’ll continue to receive the best care we can offer,” he says. After a pause, he goes on, as if he can read the question hovering in Atsumu’s mind, “I’d advise that he remain here, rather than being sent back to Hyogo.”

Atsumu swallows, but the lump in his throat remains. He finds he’s fighting back a strange prickling behind his eyes. He’s been through a war and back, has lost good friends, almost lost Bokuto, even. 

But this is different. This is Osamu, who has been there with him since the very start, before there was ever anybody else. They’d just traveled all this way for a title to protect their farm and townspeople, and Osamu had only joined him to face the city when Atsumu had tried to refuse coming at all. He’d protested, but when Osamu and Ma ganged up on him, they always won out. 

Atsumu had long ago made peace with the fact that, after he’d enlisted during the war as the oldest son of the family, he might never return home. Osamu would be able to care for Ma and the farm better than he could, if it came down to it, and even in the most trying times away from home, Atsumu hadn’t worried in the least about them. 

After the war, Atsumu had been fortunate to return in one piece when so many others had not. Yet the thought had remained - that of the two of them, deep down, Atsumu would take the sword before ever letting his brother fall before him. 

It had therefore never even occurred to him that Osamu might be the one who might be lost. That it might be Atsumu left behind. He’d never even imagined it as a possibility. 

But he was now, and it felt like the entire world was shifting around him. 

When he turns back, Sakusa is looking at him with that careful gaze, as if even something like that might tip Atsumu over the edge in some way. It very well may. Yet he’s oddly grateful to have company right now, even though it’s Sakusa. He finds he doesn’t mind so much. 

“I’ll take care of it, Miya,” Sakusa says quietly, his dark eyes steady. 

Atsumu just nods, strangely reassured. “Should I write to my ma?” he asks hesitantly. 

Sakusa gives him a small nod back. “You should probably write to her regardless. I imagine she may be curious as to how you've fared here so far,” he says evenly. 

Atsumu forces a laugh. “More etiquette lessons, eh, Sakusa?” he replies. 

And Sakusa just smiles back, gracious enough not to mention it when Atsumu looks away to blink back the prickle behind his eyes. 

///

Over breakfast, while Sakusa meets with early callers in his expansive office down the hall, Bokuto is in rare form, his joy nearly spilling out of him. It’s enough to lighten Atsumu’s mood as much as anything can with Osamu feverish and incoherent upstairs. 

Atsumu had walked in to check on Osamu for a bit. He’d sat on the edge of the bed, but Osamu hadn’t stirred. His face was so pale behind the flush on his cheeks, and he seemed restless and distressed in his sleep. Nearby, Dr. Tsubasa and Sakusa’s staff hovered like bees around Osamu’s quarters, tense in a way that made Atsumu feel like he might be underfoot hanging around his brother’s bed.

Eventually, he edged his way out amidst the taut commotion. Part of him wondered if that strange tension and the sideyed looks were due to his upcoming formal title ceremony at the end of the week that would solidify him as a new member of the noble class. 

During a lull in the conversation, Bokuto clears his throat to fill it. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Tsum-Tsum,” he says, though something in his tone is hesitant enough that Atsumu focuses his gaze on him over adding butter to his toast. “I wasn’t sure you’d come, in the end.”

“What? Why?”

Bokuto just grins at him across the table, sitting back in his seat as he folds his arms and turns his eyes up at the glittering chandelier above them. “Well, I know you pretty well, after being in the shit with you for so long.” 

Atsumu tips his head to acknowledge that. They’d basically lived in each others’ pockets. Even though he’d gotten on a lot of their nerves most of the time, Atsumu had become a voice for the commoners at the encampment purely due to his refusal - or inability - to take shit from the noble commanders. 

When Bokuto had arrived to relieve the current command and take the lead, he had overwhelmed everyone with his confidence and force of personality. Atsumu had been one of the few who hadn’t kowtowed to him immediately. Yet Bokuto had taken a shine to him right away, finding his cantankerous attitude covered with a smile amusing, despite Atsumu’s initial clear distaste for him. 

But after that first battle together and Bokuto’s very obvious competence, selflessness, and even kindness in the midst of the muck of war, Atsumu couldn’t help but fall in with the rest. Bokut asked for 120% from his soldiers, and they gave it willingly after seeing his own commitment. Atsumu had ended up putting his own life on the line for the man in the end. 

“I know how you feel about nobles. And merchants. And anyone who isn’t a commoner. Actually, maybe everyone who isn’t your brother or mother, right?” Bokuto laughs again. “I just - Kiyoomi is a good man, and I thought that you might - I had hoped you’d get along, anyway.” 

It seems that Atsumu can’t get away from people nagging at him about Sakusa, but he supposes he is being hosted by the man. Plus, Sakusa is doing all he can and more to ensure Osamu is taken care of - even going so far as to beseech the royal family for additional assistance.

“What made ya think I’d ever get on with him?”

“Well, alright. I guess Kiyoomi’s always been odd. But the good kind, you know? I mean, he’s good at his business, but he doesn’t have any interest in people generally. Still, he’s the best friend a man could ask for. I’m lucky to have him, really. He’s always been there for me. Like you!” He pauses, looking down at the table before him. “I worry about him though. Since his parents passed away, and while we were off fighting in the war, I think he might’ve been - I don’t know - just keeping too much to himself. Lonely, maybe.”

“He doesn’t strike me as they type ta get lonely,” Atsumu says.

Bokuto glances at him, frowning slightly. “Really?”

Atsumu just shrugs, because what does he know. 

Bokuto hums absently. “I think people are pretty hard on him around here, honestly. Everyone loved Lady Sakusa - his mother. She was always making sure the late Lord Sakusa did right by people, and she was kind, like Kiyoomi. But he’s a lot quieter than she was, and he’s honest to a fault.” He grins with good humor. “I thought you two would get on because of that, actually.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes. “So, what - ya brought me here just to make friends with Sakusa?” 

“No! I mean, I’d hoped you’d be friends! I want all of my friends to get on!” Bokuto pushes his plate forward to make space to rest his forearms on the table. “I just really did want to thank you for saving me.”

“Seriously, ya gotta stop - “

Bokuto holds up a hand to cut him off. “I was telling Akaashi this last night. I had thought it was the end of the line for me back then, before you rode up all heroic, like my knight in shining armor. Except covered in mud and worse and with that sad rusty armor.” He cuts a small grin across the table as if to lessen the blow of the insulting truth of it. “But it wasn’t the end, and I realized how lucky I am to still be here. You gave me that, Atsumu. And I’m braver now because of that than I ever was during the war.” 

Atsumu raises his eyebrows at that, surprised for some reason at the candid words, though not so much at the sincerity belying every word of the statement. It was so very Bokuto in every sense. 

“And I want to be a better man for it - to care for the people I love, since I’m fortunate to be able to do so,” Bokuto goes on. “For Akaashi, I want to do right by him now that I can. And for my family and friends. Shouyou. Kiyoomi. You.” He sits up and spreads his hands. “That’s all.” 

“Well,” Atsumu says, touched by words more than he would’ve expected. The ease with which Bokuto shared his thoughts, the heartfelt sentiment behind them, makes Atsumu a little uncomfortable. He feels almost compelled then to ask his own honest question. “The title, though. The whole fief. Whatever debt you feel you owe me - it just - it seems like a lot, Bo-kun.”

Bokuto looks at his hands, smiling lightly. “Sakusa had suggested it, actually. And figured out how to do it. And Shouyou supported it. I didn’t do anything, really, but ask for the favor. In the end, Sakusa felt you might be a good addition - to have you as a part of the court, I mean. I told him you weren’t interested in wealth or status, that you were just a good man who did right by the people you were charged with looking after during the war. How you talked about your family and your farm, your neighbors, like that was world enough for you, and how different it was than what Kiyoomi and I were used to growing up. I’m not sure he believed me at first, actually, before he settled on awarding you with the fiefdom. He asked so many questions about you! It felt like an interrogation!” 

“Oh, yeah,” Atsumu says with a lazy grin. “He told me he thought I was just usin’ ya.”

“He did not!” Bokuto says, laughing. When Atsumu just raises his eyebrows in response, Bokuto’s grin drops for a moment before he laughs again. “On second thought, maybe he did. He’s always been painfully honest.” 

“Yeah. But then he apologized for it.”

“Huh,” Bokuto says, looking at Atsumu’s face carefully as if to gauge his reaction to the apology. “He’s not so good at doing that, usually.”

“I’m gettin’ that. It was - it was all right. I met him out by the garden last night. Cleared the air a bit. He’s actually pretty funny, in a weird way,” Atsumu says, and he fights down the heat spreading across his face at the reluctant admission. “He ain’t as bad as I thought, I guess.”

Bokuto’s eyes light up, but he seems like he’s holding back his words when he says, “Ah! That’s - good. That’s good.”

“What is it? What aren’t you saying?”

Bokuto shakes his head, looking away, but a smug smile is creeping across his face. “Nothing!”

“Bo-kun! Tell me!”

Bokuto laughs at the whiny tone. “It’s honestly nothing. I'm glad, is all, that you’re getting on now.”

“Well, I didn’t quite say _that,_ ” Atsumu replies stubbornly. 

Bokuto just smiles at him, and if it wasn't Bokuto, Atsumu would say that the smile was almost _sly._ His expression evens out before Atsumu can analyze it further. “We wrote to each other during the war. He’s not one for keeping in touch, but he wrote to me anyway,” Bokuto says, his voice going softer. “I told him a lot about you. How we took care of each other out there. And when I got back, and I told him about what you did for me - and answered all of his questions about you - he was my champion at court when facing Shouyou and the other nobles. He’d been looking forward to meeting you since.” 

Atsumu frowns. “It didn’t seem like it when we first met at the debut party.”

Bokuto cuts an amused grin at him. “Pretty sure that had been the first party he’d been to in _years,_ Tsum-Tsum. Kiyoomi hates social calls for business, let alone social gatherings with that many people. You remember he was hiding behind a fucking curtain, right?” He shakes his head fondly. 

Atsumu feels something twist in his chest thinking about it. Initially, he’d assumed it was just an eccentricity of a wealthy lord, but the more he hears about Sakusa and learns about him on his own, he feels kind of bad for the man in retrospect. 

“He used to do that as a kid all the time,” Bokuto adds. “His parents would always threaten to put a leash on him during parties. One time, when we were still little, he just up and left - walked all the way back home by himself in the dark. Caused kind of a scandal when his parents couldn’t find him at the party all night.” 

Atsumu bites back a smile at the thought of that. “Well, he was still kind of a pissy scrub when we met, anyway.”

“Maybe. But it was probably more from being at the party than anything to do with you.” Bokuto squints his eyes at Atsumu, then picks up and throws a small piece of a peach. It hits Atsumu on the cheek with a splat. “You were kind of a ‘pissy scrub’ yourself that night too, you know! And you’re the one who refused to be a guest here with us!”

Atsumu pops the bit of fruit into his mouth and wipes his face with his napkin. Then he picks up a bigger piece of fruit, but the server on the other side of the room raises a brow at him, so he shrugs and grins wide before setting it back down on his plate. Bokuto watches the motion with a victorious smirk. 

“You been takin’ cues from my brother or somethin’?” Atsumu says. “I don’t need you bein’ mean ta me too!”

“I’m just an honest kind of man,” Bokuto says, shrugging and stamping down on his grin. 

Atsumu casts his own sly smile at him. “Seems ta me like yer about ta make an honest man outta Akaashi soon too.” Bokuto eyes go wide, and Atsumu goes on, “I may have heard ya confess to ‘im last night when I was walkin’ around the garden.” If he isn’t mistaken, the server behind Bokuto looks to be trying to fight off a laugh. 

Bokuto looks torn between being embarrassed at being overheard and absurdly pleased with his new beau.

“I’m happy for ya, Bo-kun,” Atsumu says, cutting him some slack. 

“Oh man, I’m so happy for me too!” Bokuto exclaims. “Akaashi said yes! Did you hear that part, Tsum-Tsum?”

“I did, and then beat a hasty retreat, pal. Should you two have a chaperone now or somethin’?” Atsumu asks, waggling his eyebrows. 

Bokuto goes bright red in a way that Atsumu has never seen before, and he bursts out laughing as Bokuto sputters incoherently. “No! I’m - Akaashi is a gentleman! I’d never - “

“Oh, never? You sayin’ ya don’t wanna - “

“Of - of course I want - but I - “ Bokuto stammers, and Atsumu laughs because Bokuto is still so red. “Stop making fun of me! I can’t help it! Have you _seen_ Akaashi? And he’s so kind and smart, and he’s so funny, like in a mean, subtle way that sometimes I don’t get, but it’s _nice_ mean. You know?” 

“Sure sure,” Atsumu says, holding a stitch in his side from his laughter. “Look, I don’t know much about the mating rituals of the rich and snooty, but I am happy for ya. It’s pretty obvious how he feels about you.”

“Really?” Bokuto asks, as if news of Akaashi’s affection will never get old.

“Sure!” Atsumu says, willing to provide it.

“You don’t seem too good at reading people, if I’m being honest,” Bokuto says with that odd, indecipherably impish smile. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bokuto just shakes his head. The server behind him is biting his own lip to hide the smile that is evident from the crinkles around his eyes. 

Atsumu goes back to his breakfast and stares at them both suspiciously.

///

The next few days leading up to Atsumu’s title ceremony and celebration are exciting and tense all at once. 

Osamu gets worse still, requiring around-the-clock care. Atsumu constantly stops by, but in the rare moments when Osamu is awake enough to speak with him, it’s for only brief moments, and it seems like his mind is scattered. 

Atsumu writes to his mother, and he eventually decides to also write to Suna to update him on Osamu’s health. 

At one point, Osamu had reached back for Atsumu’s wrist before he’d left. His hand was hot, like a brand. “Hey,” Osamu said. “Ya know Ma’s flowers in that little plot in front ‘a the house?” Osamu looked at him through glassy eyes that looked to be more gray than blue in his pale face in that moment, like color was being leached from him entirely by his illness. 

Atsumu pried the fingers from his wrist to hold onto the hand instead, suddenly cold down to his bones and seeking the feverish warmth from his brother’s skin. “Sure. What of it?”

Osamu seemed to search his face. His voice was barely a whisper when he said, “The dogs keep tryin’ ta dig up under there, so ya gotta keep an eye on ‘em.” 

“I know that,” Atsumu replied defensively, but his voice lacked its usual energy even to his own ears. 

“And Toshiko hates how you milk her. It’s why she likes me best,” Osamu said, rolling over some more so he could settle his gaze on Atsumu, but his eyes kept slipping closed every so often like he was fighting to stay awake. “Ya gotta be more gentle. She’s cranky, but she’s soft, ya know?”

“What?!” Atsumu said, scoffing even as he squeezed Osamu’s hand in a ply to keep him awake a little longer. “She does not hate how I milk her!”

“She does.”

“No, she doesn’t!” 

Osamu’s smirk was a shadow of what it should be. Atsumu hated it. “The truth hurts.” 

“I’ll hurt _you_ , ya filthy liar,” Atsumu replied. 

It was quiet for a moment. Osamu had closed his eyes, and Atsumu watched the blankets move above his chest, as if that would reassure him. Then Osamu swallowed and said, “You should - tell Suna ta help ya out with the harvest this fall. He’s quicker at it than I am anyway. Smarter about it, somehow.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” Atsumu asked. He didn’t like the growingly distant tone in Osamu’s voice, the whisper of it, or the way his eyes were only open in slits, like he no longer had the energy to keep them open anymore than that. When Osamu doesn’t reply, Atsumu slaps at his hand. “Hey, answer me!” 

At that, some of the staff in the room glanced at him as if in rebuke, but Osamu blinked his eyes back open, and Atsumu felt validated. “Rintarou won’t mind,” Osamu said quietly. “Just ply him with some of Ma’s dried fruit leather. He likes the strawberry ones. I keep ‘em in the icebox for a bit for ‘im. He likes that.” 

Atsumu kept trying to swallow the lump in his throat, but it wouldn’t going away. “Hey,” he said. He cleared his throat when his voice cracked. “Hey shut up about that shit. You take care of ‘im yerself, all right?” 

“K, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu said easily. “Gon’ nap for a bit. I beat ya to the chickens already, y’know.” 

Atsumu swallowed thickly, watching each blink over those gray-blue eyes before they closed. 

Atsumu had always liked feeding the chickens best out of all their chores, ever since they were kids. They’d fight over who got to do it, because they could make trails with the feed and have the chickens follow a path like ducklings. Osamu had the record of drawing them all the way to the barn, but they’d both gotten hollered at for it, and Atsumu had had to help usher them back into the coop even if it hadn’t been his fault.

“Why ya revoltin’ shit pig,” Atsumu said, but it was a few beats late, and his voice was quiet and choked up, drowned in the midst of his heavy breaths as he struggled to keep a hold of himself. 

Osamu didn’t respond. Atsumu gave his hand a last squeeze and rested it onto his brother’s chest. He didn’t meet Dr. Tsubasa’s eyes as he left, knowing that any ounce of compassion he might see right now would tip him right over the edge. 

He ended up in the garden, staring blankly down at the pages of one of Sakusa’s sheafs of notes on Hyogo. It listed some information on the genealogies of the fief’s families and products farmed on their lands for decades. He’s taken to reviewing Sakusa’s notes and recommended books on similar-sized fiefs in his down time. He had expected it to be dry reading, but it’s been helpful and actually interesting. Sakusa’s notes in the margins added clarity to certain terms or unfamiliar phrases, and he couldn’t even find it in himself to be upset about it. 

When the sun is no longer at its peak, Atsumu hears the crunch of gravel of approaching footsteps on the path. He’s on his back, just staring up through the dappled sunlight slipping through the leaves of the tree offering him some shade. The Hyogo notes flutter in the breeze under an apple he brought with him. 

He looks to the side and traces his eyes up long legs in tapered breeches, takes in the slim waist and toned chest beneath a fitted tunic, until he settles his gaze on Sakusa’s impassive expression looking down on him. Sakusa tips his head to one side, a beckoning gesture, and Atsumu shrugs, pushing up to a seat. He collects his apple and his notes, and follows to the next plot that Sakusa is fixing up a bit away. 

After that, it almost becomes a routine throughout that week. Atsumu stops in to check on Osamu, has breakfast with Bokuto before he runs his errands or calls on Akaashi, reads one of the books on his desk from Sakusa, and then he heads out to help in the garden when Sakusa’s done with work. His evenings are taken up with smaller dinner parties, but Bokuto always joins him, and after the first one with Akaashi, the others are like dim repeats.

That first day though after visiting Osamu, he’s still wearing one of the outfits Sakusa’s tailor had made for him. He pushes his sleeves up, but he still gets dirt and grass stains on it and on his breeches. He notices Sakusa’s eyes catching repeatedly on the mess, but he doesn’t comment on it. Atsumu is surprised that the normal rush of defensiveness and annoyance doesn’t rise in him. 

The next day, he laughs when he finds three whole outfits laid out in his suite that match Sakusa’s gardening clothing, complete with gloves and work boots. That afternoon, he stalks out in the new clothes, and Sakusa avoids his eyes, going straight for laying out the gardening tools between them. 

“Thanks for the clothes, Sakusa. I’ve never felt so fancy bein’ on my knees in the dirt before,” Atsumu says with a teasing tone as he settles down next to the man. 

Sakusa goes bright red at that, and Atsumu laughs so hard he falls back on his ass. Sakusa’s expression folds into a frown, and Atsumu reads it less as irritation than discomfort and maybe even reluctant humor. Sakusa says, almost sounding spiteful, “It seemed a waste to ruin your day clothes.” 

“Sure,” Atsumu replies. “You treat all your guests so well?”

“I don’t have other guests,” Sakusa says. “Except Bokuto.”

Atsumu can’t help that he’s still grinning. Something about the warmth he feels then has nothing to do with the sun beating down on them. “Well, if ya keep spoilin’ me like this, I’m gonna start feelin’ like a kept man.” 

Sakusa’s blush seems to spread and deepen, clear in the daylight despite how he turns his face further away as if to hide it and focuses intently at the task before him. Atsumu just bites down on his grin and pushes back up to his knees and pulls on his matching gardening gloves. 

He’s not sure when he went from outright hating every sight and smell here to finding peace in these little spaces and quiet moments. But focusing on pruning stems, pollinating flowers, and pulling weeds is something he’s so accustomed to that it’s calming work even here. 

“My ma would like this,” Atsumu says on another afternoon beside Sakusa in the garden. Though it had been quiet between them, when Sakusa looks up, it’s not with an air of interruption. There’s a blossom held gently between his two fingers, but he stares at Atsumu as if encouraging him to go on. “She has this little plot in front of the house. Our pa made it for her after they got married. He splurged on a bunch ‘a seeds from a traveling merchant and planted all these colorful flowers for her. ‘Samu and I take turns tendin’ to it now. I think it makes her miss him, when she worked on it without him.” He pauses and glances around, taking in the expanse of land around them. “I mean, this is much grander, of course, but it reminds me of her.” 

Sakusa lilts one of those growingly familiar smiles at him - a surprised sort of acknowledging gesture, but this one is pleased, and a little bit secretive. 

Atsumu shrugs past the sensation of heat lighting up his cheeks at the sight of it and gets back to pulling weeds.

///

The very next morning, there’s a ruckus in the entryway. Atsumu is just wandering out of his quarters and getting ready to check in on Osamu when he hears the hustle of people downstairs. It’s different enough from the calm solace of mornings in the Sakusa manor that he picks up his pace to head down.

He stops dead in his tracks at the top of the staircase when he sees who’s standing there in a patched brown frock with her wispy black hair hastily tied back in a cream ribbon - a figure so at odds with the grandiose foyer that Atsumu is at a complete loss for words. 

And then he’s positively leaping down the steps. He’ll later be surprised he didn’t tumble down and faceplant in front of everyone, but when he stumbles to a stop, he’s grinning the widest and most sincere smile he’s had since coming to the city. 

“Ma!” he cries, laughing incredulously down at her. “The hell‘re ya doin’ here?”

“Language, ‘Tsumu!” she exclaims, and she casts a quick look around at the fluttering motions of the footmen around them. He knows she would have given him a smack to the back of head for it if they weren’t surrounded by strangers, but then she’s smiling as wide as he is and opening up her arms. 

He has to bend down to hug her properly, and when he does, he can’t help but lift her up and spin her around. She laughs in his ear. She’s so familiar with that scent of home that he doesn’t let go for a long while. When he finally does pull back, he hears that awkward throat clearing sound and turns to see Sakusa standing there with Komori at his side. 

“Welcome, Lady Miya,” Sakusa says. His expression is smooth as he looks at both of them standing there, Atsumu with his arm around his ma’s shoulders, her hands clutching at his surcoat. “I hope you had a pleasant trip.” 

“Oh, Lord Sakusa,” she says, and Atsumu is baffled at how at ease she seems. She lets go of him and walks over to Sakusa, pulling on his arm so she can hold his hand between hers. Atsumu is torn between wanting to shake someone for answers about what his ma of all people is doing in here and laughing at the suddenly discomfited expression on Sakusa’s face.“You must call me Chie! I can’t imagine what you’ve been through hosting my boys.” 

She continues looking up at Sakusa expectantly until he says, sounding reluctant, “Welcome, Chie.” 

When she turns to Atsumu, she’s smiling pleasantly. “Well, how surprised are ya?” 

Atsumu feels like a bug under a magnifying glass with everyone just looking at him. “Fuckin’ surprised as hell, Ma!” She scowls, and he raises his hands as if to ward off a blow. “Sorry! Sorry! That’s just how surprised I am!”

She sighs at him, and it’s so familiar and so normal that he laughs that stupid giggling laugh that Osamu always makes fun of him for. He can feel Sakusa staring at him, but Atsumu’s only got eyes for his ma at that moment. 

“Lord Sakusa sent for me soon after you and Osamu left,” Ma says. “I’m here for yer celebration! They hired people ta help out at the farm while that lovely Kita boy oversees things fer us while we’re all gone. Can ya believe it?”

Atsumu knows his mouth is hanging open as he stares at her. He cuts a quick glance at Sakusa, who looks as stoic as ever, but his lips are taut in an apprehensive line until Atsumu shoots him a grin. The line evens out, but a frown appears on Sakusa’s brow then like he’s uncomfortable. “I can, actually,” he replies, turning back to her.

“Such a kind gesture!” she goes on. “I hope ya haven’t been givin’ Lord Sakusa too hard a time. I know you, boy.” Her voice drops in warning, her eyes narrowing. 

Atsumu sees Sakusa’s lips twitch and makes a protesting sound. “I’ve been the consummate guest!” he exclaims. “Sakusa, tell her!” And then he blushes, because he doesn’t know why he’s seeking affirmation from his host.

Sakusa is still frowning, but Atsumu isn’t phased by it now. He’s gotten a bit more well acquainted with Sakusa’s frowns. This one used to seem irritated upon first glance, but Atsumu knows now to look for the line of the man’s lips, the flicker of his eyes, the way he folds his hands together behind him to keep himself steady. There, he reads that ever-present discomfort at having any attention on him at all.

“He ain’t sayin’ it, but it’s true,” Atsumu says. 

Sakusa sends him a quick glance, and Atsumu might almost think it was grateful. 

For some reason, Ma is darting her attention from Sakusa to Atsumu and back again with the kind of calculation he hates to see in her eyes, because it usually means she’s about to call him out on something he doesn’t want to be called out on. But then she smiles softly, like she does at newly hatched chicks, and gives Sakusa’s hand - still in hers for god’s sakes - a gentle pat. “Well, aren’t ya precious, Lord Sakusa.” 

Sakusa turns bright red and averts his gaze at the comment. 

When she finally lets go of his hand, Sakusa takes a step back, nearly bumping into Komori, who is outright grinning at all of them. 

“Now, show me to ‘Samu.” She directs a quick glare in Atsumu’s direction as Komori bows and begins to lead her toward the staircase with the sweep of one hand. But the glare doesn’t cover the worry on her face as she pulls up the skirt of her frock to head to Osamu. Still, she has to leave him with a last parting shot. “Yer lucky Lord Sakusa sent updates on Osamu’s illness, or you’d be gettin’ an earful from me. I think ya kept more in touch while you were off at war than ya have been here in the city.” 

Atsumu makes a face behind her back as she rushes upstairs. Then he’s left in the foyer with Sakusa. 

Sakusa clears his throat again. “Bokuto mentioned how close you are with your family. It seemed - proper that your mother should be here to witness the title ceremony and the honor to be bestowed upon you for your valor.” 

Atsumu can’t help that he’s still grinning. He can’t even conjure up the itching need to be snide. All he feels is warmth and comfort in this moment with his ma upstairs, the best physicians in the kingdom looking after Osamu, and Sakusa standing there before him looking uncomfortable as hell. 

When Sakusa excuses himself to prepare for the day’s work, Atsumu just nods at him. 

He stands there for a minute longer to take everything in, the light pouring in from the expansive windows into the room, beating back the shadows, and warming his back. 

He’s content perhaps for the first time since he returned from the war - in a way that being back on the farm and around his family had not quite settled within him. And the thought of it is so bewildering that he tries to put it out of mind.

///

Miraculously, Osamu’s condition improves. It seemed he’d been going through the worst of the illness leading up to their mother arriving, and the fever breaks overnight. 

The next morning, Atsumu is about to go check on him when he sees Osamu emerge from his room. He’s leaning a bit on their ma’s arm, but he’s up. 

“‘Samu!” Atsumu says, rushing at him. Ma is grinning, looking like she’s been crying, but she hands Osamu off so Atsumu can duck under his arm to steady him. “The hell’re ya doin’ up, ya idiot?”

“I’ve been in bed the entire time we’ve been here, it sounds like,” Osamu says. His voice is hoarse, but not that quiet, wilted thing it had been before. “Thought I might stretch my legs some. Besides, I gotta get my strength up for yer party tomorrow.”

“Fuck the party,” Atsumu says, laughing. 

“Language!” Ma says, but she’s laughing too.

“I mean, I guess it’s the least ya could do - show up to the party and not die on us,” Atsumu says. “Yer life is probably worth ten times as much my title after all the royal staff Sakusa brought in ta take care of ya this whole time.”

“Since when do you care about Sakusa and that title?” Osamu asks, lifting a brow at him. Ma pokes him in the side for some reason, and Atsumu frowns at them both.

“I don’t!” Atsumu says defensively. “I just meant - you know. I’m - I couldn’t give less of a shit about the party. I’m glad yer up, is all.”

Osamu glances over at him, looking over his face carefully. His own is still pale, and his eyes are a bit glassy with exhaustion. But then Osamu cuts a muted grin back, and he doesn’t mention that Atsumu is holding onto him maybe too tightly. “No need ta get all mushy, ‘Tsumu,” he says. 

And then, next to them, Ma is crying through her smile, so they turn to poke fun of her instead.

Atsumu thinks it’s his ma’s presence that helped heal Osamu, but he admits that the constant care and monitoring and the medications offered that would have otherwise been hard to come by or unaffordable for them might’ve helped too. 

The next afternoon leading up to the title ceremony party, Osamu is up and walking again on his own, albeit a bit weak and slow, and now he’s no less shitty than he ever was. 

“”Tsumu was a real scrub to Lord Sakusa when we first met him, Ma. I told ya he needed a chaperone,” Osamu says, looking lazily at Atsumu as if daring him to deny it. 

Atsumu is so relieved to have him sitting out on the patio, for once not looking like death, that he just sends back a sharp smile and says with a biting tone, “Sakusa thinks I’m delightful.”

Osamu raises his brows. “He does, does he?” Again, Ma pokes him in the side, and Osamu cuts her a small grin in response. 

“ _Everyone_ finds me delightful,” Atsumu says, scowling. Nearby, one of Sakusa’s staff, the one who oversees breakfast, coughs. At Osamu and Ma’s laughter, Atsumu directs his scowl at the man, but he just smiles back evenly. 

Atsumu shakes his head and lets the sounds of his brother and his mother’s voices wash over him, tilting his head back to let the bright sun warm him. He’s dressed in his garden clothes, which are spades more comfortable than the daywear he had originally been provided with. 

“Sir Bokuto was telling me how in demand Lord Sakusa is,” Ma says suddenly. She and Bokuto, to no one’s surprise, got along swimmingly. When she’s not keeping Osamu and Dr. Tsubasa company or spending quiet moments with Atsumu over tea and books, she and Bokuto would take time outside the manor together, usually while Atsumu was in the garden with Sakusa.

“Sure,” Atsumu says, his eyes closed as he soaks in the sun. “Because he’s an ideal conversationalist and party guest.” 

“Well, I don’t know about all that. The man seems terribly shy,” Ma says doubtfully. Atsumu opens one eye to look at her. Osamu is in a similar pose, relaxed back in a lounge chair. He might well be sleeping even. 

“Shy,” Atsumu says in a doubtful tone. But when he actually thinks about it, he supposes the descriptor is fitting.

“Anyway, Sir Bokuto was saying how half of his business calls during the day are of the _romantic_ variety. Komori vets his letters because much of his daily mail is along a similar vein. How precious is that! The poor thing. He seems to find normal interaction difficult enough. Imagine being in such high demand!”

Atsumu stares at her incredulously. “Seriously?”

Ma laughs at his expression. “Well, he _is_ very handsome.” At Atsumu’s increasingly distressed expression, she just laughs again and says, “I will always love your pa, but I’m not _blind,_ ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu makes a face at her and closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to listen to more of this. He can feel her grin at him even with his eyes shut though. 

Later, when Sakusa wanders out of the manor, he pauses by their table where they’re wrapping up a late lunch. Atsumu slants an easy grin at him. “No rest for the wicked, eh, Sakusa?” 

“That you’re out here resting belies the truth of that statement,” Sakusa says easily. Then he seems to take in Ma and Osamu sitting there grinning up at him as Atsumu squawks in protest. Sakusa gets that constipated look on his face that means he’s uncomfortable or self-conscious and takes a step back. 

Atsumu rolls his eyes. “All right, all right,” he says, pushing up to a stand. 

“Have fun, you two,” Osamu says. Ma pokes him in the side again, and Atsumu shoots them an odd look at their behavior. 

“Maybe go sit in the shade fer a bit. Yer both actin’ weird lately,” he says, and follows Sakusa out to the gardens. 

///

The title ceremony itself is a small affair. With a notary and one of Prince Hinata’s representatives present, Atsumu signs a few fancy-looking documents under Sakusa’s name and the royal crest, and then it’s over. It’s the celebration itself among the nobles in the city that seems to be the solidifying factor in making the title change a reality. 

Ma is pretty and blushing and pleased in a dress tailored for her, and Atsumu is nearly overcome with gratitude in this moment for that alone. She keeps looking down at the lace and silk like she’s not sure they’re real. 

Osamu and Bokuto keep complimenting her because she continues snapping back fiercely, but she’s smiling fondly at them both over her cutting words. 

Around them, the manor is bustling with activity. Guests are beginning to show up to the ballroom. Candles and lamps are lit so even the farthest and darkest corners are aglow. An orchestra is playing joyful music that echoes through the rest of the manor. 

When Akaashi arrives, even Ma goes kind of speechless. Bokuto hustles him over to her to introduce them. 

“This is Akaashi Keiji, Chie! Didn’t I tell you? He’s the most beautiful man in the city - the kingdom!” 

Akaashi can’t seem to bite back his smile as he blushes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Miya,” he says, gently taking her hand. He glances at Bokuto, then Atsumu. “Will Lord Sakusa be joining us late?”

Bokuto laughs. “Always. But he said he’d be here, anyway.”

“What’s he doing’ up in his room anyway?” Atsumu asks. 

“Why, you wanna go check on ‘im?” Osamu says under his breath. 

Atsumu scowls. “I mean, if I’ve gotta be here, why shouldn’t he?”

“He’s pretending to do work, probably,” Bokuto says, with worry creasing his brow. 

Akaashi takes his arm reassuringly, immediately clearing the lines from his face as Bokuto smiles down at him. “He doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean,” Akaashi says. “He’ll join us when he’s ready.”

Inside, people are eager to speak with them. Atsumu sees a few familiar faces of those he dined with while visiting so far, and he suffers through some small talk before he manages to sneak off to find his ma and Osamu close to the tables of hors d'oeuvres. 

Ma grabs Atsumu’s attention then, helping to straighten his vest. “I overheard people saying some interesting things about Lord Sakusa,” she says quietly. 

“Oh my god, Ma,” Atsumu groans. “Why do we keep talkin’ about ‘im?”

“Yeah, Ma,” Osamu says, smiling easily with a small plate in one hand. “Atsumu definitely doesn’t wanna hear any more gossip about his special garden friend.” 

At that, Atsumu picks up one of the hors d'oeuvres and shoves it in Osamu’s mouth. Ma slaps the back of his head, and he flushes when a few people nearby laugh. Osamu just shrugs, grinning around his mouthful. 

Ma frowns sternly at them both. “He’s our host, and he’s done so much for us. You’ll be respectful in his home.” She glances around, then gestures for them to step further away. “I’ve just had some folks here ask some interesting questions about him, is all. ”

“Like what?” Atsumu asks, frowning. 

“Like why isn’t he courtin’ anyone yet,” Osamu says, staring at him plainly. 

“That’s not interesting,” Atsumus protests. “Why are you wastin’ my time with this nonsense?” 

Ma pokes him in the ribs. “I was talkin’ to Sir Bokuto about it before. Did you know he hoped you’d get on with Lord Sakusa?” 

Atsumu rubs at the sore spot. “Yeah, he may have mentioned it.” 

“You think maybe you’d want to court him then, ‘Tsumu?” Osamu says.

“What!” Atsumu cries, but he lowers his voice when he gets a few stares. “The hell? No! Leave me alone!” 

“It isn’t too terrible a question, sweetheart. You do spend an awful lot of time together. Osamu said you’re getting on much better than you were at first.”

“Oh,” Atsumu snaps, “so just because I don’t hate the man’s guts anymore, suddenly I’m moony-eyed over him?” 

“I mean, it’s you, so...yes,” Osamu replies. 

“Fuck you,” Atsumu hisses, and it’s worth another smack to the back of the head from Ma, even under Osamu’s judging gaze. 

“Hush now. Never mind then,” Ma says, eyeing them both sharply. Her smile returns when Bokuto comes up to them with Akaashi again. 

Soon after, as Atsumu stews with irritation at his family, there is a ripple of murmurs that prompts Bokuto to perk up and then charge forward to inadvertently part the seas of the crowd like he had at Atsumu’s debut party. “Over here, Kiyoomi!” he calls out. 

Next to Atsumu, Akaashi sighs quietly. At Atsumu’s amused glance, Akaashi smiles. “I don’t know why Sir Bokuto says he’s the lucky one. I’ve yet to meet anyone as genuinely determined to aggressively provide comfort as he is.” 

Someone taps Akaashi’s shoulder, so Akaashi turns away to greet the newcomers. “Lady Yukie,” he says. “It’s nice to see you. How are you and Lady Suzumeda?”

Atsumu watches as Bokuto re-emerges, an arm snug around Sakusa’s shoulders, the width of it nearly covering the side of Sakusa’s face as he tugs him forward. Atsumu is grinning at them, holding back laughter at the expression on Sakusa’s face, like he’s a recalcitrant child being forced to make nice with the party guests. 

When they get back to their little circle, Ma takes Sakusa’s hand and pats it consolingly. Sakusa nods his head at her politely in greeting, his expression evening out until he sees Atsumu’s smirk, and then there’s that familiar look of disdain spreading across his face that really means he’s just uncomfortable at being seen or having attention on him. 

Osamu nudges Atsumu’s side with his elbow. “Yer embarrassing yourself,” he says before popping a stuffed mushroom in his mouth. 

“What?”

“Seriously,” Osamu replies, despite his mouthful. At Atsumu’s frustrated lift of his eyebrows in question, Osamu goes on, “That smitten look on yer face. It’s as embarrassing as when you were chasin’ after Kita when we were kids. Put it away.”

Atsumu scowls. “The hell’re ya talkin’ about? Put yourself away,” he snaps. 

“Boys,” Ma says sharply. 

It gets a little quiet around all of them then, and it’s the only reason they hear Lady Yukie next to Akaashi say, “I’d love to call on you for dinner tomorrow, if you’re available, Lord Akaashi.” 

Bokuto hurriedly lets go of Sakusa and slides next to Akaashi, his hand pressing lightly into the small of Akaashi’s back. “He’s not!” he exclaims with a strange laugh that sounds very obviously forced. “He’s - he’s having dinner here tomorrow. With me and Sakusa and the Miyas!”

“Ah,” Lady Yukie says, smiling politely at Bokuto. She glances back at her friend next to her before turning back, her smile becoming sly as she settles it in Akaashi’s direction. Yet she continues to cut her gaze back at a growingly flustered Bokuto. “Perhaps the following evening then?”

Before Akaashi can reply, Bokuto says, “No - he’s busy then too, right, Akaashi?”

They’re drawing stares from a few others near them, and the woman is outright grinning from Bokuto to Akaashi. Next to her, her friend is hiding her face entirely behind her fan, but her shoulders are visibly shaking with repressed laughter. 

“Then perhaps - “

“Yukie, no!” Bokuto finally shouts. “I’m sorry, but he’s busy every day this week. Maybe even the month! Tell her, Akaashi!”

“Sir Bokuto, she’s teasing you,” Akaashi says finally, pressing his shoulder gently into Bokuto’s side. “You mustn’t let your friends get under your skin so easily.” 

“What?” Bokuto looks hurt as he looks back at Lady Yukie. “You’re making fun of me, Yukie?”

“I told her and Lady Suzumeda of our courtship over lunch yesterday,” Akaashi says quietly. “I hope that’s all right.” 

Bokuto blinks at him, but then a smile spreads across his face, nearly blinding in its radiance. “Of course it’s all right, Aghaashi! Let’s tell everyone else right now!” Next to Sakusa, Ma is clutching her hands together. 

“Perhaps another time,” Akaashi says, grabbing hold of his arm before Bokuto can turn away. “Lord Miya’s title celebration would not be the most conducive time to announce our courtship more broadly.” 

“It’s all right, Sir Bokuto,” Lady Yukie’s friend says. She takes hold of Lady Yukie’s hand. “Most everyone is aware already. There had been a court-wide wager among some of us about when this might finally happen.” When Akaashi frowns at her, she shrugs and taps his shoulder consolingly with her fan. “And neither of you are very subtle about your affection.”

“Lady Suzumeda and I really were only seeking Lord Akaashi’s company,” Lady Yukie pipes in. “You were to be invited as well, _as you usually are,_ Lord Bokuto.”

“Ah, right,” Bokuto says, rubbing one hand behind his neck sheepishly. Then he brightens. “We’re free tomorrow, right, Akaashi? I’ll beat you at chess this time, Yukie!” 

“Tomorrow then,” Lady Yukie says. “I’ll have those little cakes you like delivered so you can partake in the benefits of our winnings from the wager.” Then she smiles smugly and tugs Lady Suzumeda away by the hand. 

“That was horrific to watch,” Sakusa says, looking at Bokuto. 

Atsumu snorts out a laugh. 

“Well, at least I tried to give an excuse on Akaashi’s behalf,” Bokuto protests, but he’s still smiling brightly, his hand still supportive behind Akaashi’s back. “You just say, ‘No.’”

“It’s best to be as clear as possible as soon as possible,” Sakusa says tiredly, as if he’s been over this many times before. He looks blankly as everyone else stares at him incredulously. “I do express my thanks for their interest, of course.”

“And what does that sound like?” Atsumu asks, raising a brow. He ignores Osamu’s sudden smirk and how Ma’s eyebrows go up. 

Sakusa flicks his eyes at him. “I say, ‘Thank you.’”

Over Bokuto’s boisterous laughter, Atsumu nods, keeping his expression even as he says, “Of course. Of course. Ya let ‘em down nice and easy.” 

Sakusa sighs through his nose as if Atsumu just doesn’t understand. 

Atsumu rolls his eyes at him, then turns to Ma and Osamu to bring them in on the joke, but Osamu is grinning back at him already, and Ma is eyeing Atsumu in that way she has of prying the truth out of him. But usually it’s about something like who accidentally let the chickens out or forgot to milk Toshiko in the morning and making her ornery. It makes him uncomfortable. 

“What?” he says, a scowl pulling his features in. 

“You’re embarrassing,” Osamu says. 

“You’re sweet, dear,” Ma adds. 

“I hate you both,” Atsumu replies, feeling himself flush as the others look at him. “Bringin’ you along was the worst idea. Who’s was it again? Oh, Sakusa!” 

“My apologies,” Sakusa says evenly, and Atsumu scowls deeper, but he’s trying to fight back the grin at the small joke. 

“Lord Sakusa, may I have a word?” a man says, tapping on Sakusa’s arm. “I wish to discuss with you the trade agreement for the Mino fief with some of your merchants.”

“Perhaps you can arrange a time to call on me during business hours, Lord Noboru,” Sakusa says, before he turns back to their group.

Lord Noboru frowns and taps again at Sakusa’s arm. “It’s rather urgent, sir. I’ve traveled a long way.” 

Sakusa merely turns his head to the side. “And I’ve already leant my ear to you earlier this week, yet still you need further discourse on a simple trade negotiation. You may have traveled to join this celebration, and I have forced myself to attend this gathering. We all must do difficult things for pressing reasons,” he says. When he turns away again, his expression is tight. Atsumu sees the lines of discomfort and unease along his shoulders and in the crease on his brow. 

Atsumu glances away and sees Akaashi wince lightly while Bokuto snickers. 

Unfortunately, Lord Noboru seems to latch onto the snickering and scowls. “I understand that your guests of honor take precedence, but they are merely from an insignificant parcel of land barely worth your notice, Lord Sakusa,” he says. “Perhaps you should avert your attention to the more pressing concerns of those truly within your station?”

Ma is frowning now, which is never a good sign, and Atsumu watches as Osamu’s eyes seem to flash in the light as he turns his body towards the man. Atsumu really couldn’t care less about what Lord Whoever is saying, but Sakusa suddenly turns around fully to face him. “Your fief is barely any larger than theirs. And still, regardless of station, they’ve shown more decorum in my presence in the days and weeks they’ve been my guests than you have in the few minutes I’ve had to suffer through your presence. Again, I invite you to call on me during business hours,” he says sharply. 

And Atsumu sees then the high lord that commands such deference among the nobles here in the city. The way he stands staring down at Lord Noboru, with a cutting edge to his eyes and an expression that admits to no weakness would be enough to have Atsumu straightening his shoulders in response. 

It’s growing quieter around them. Except for Bokuto who can’t seem to get his snickering under control despite Akaashi tugging insistently on his hand. 

The effect of it all at once seems to make Lord Noboru more agitated still. “You know, Lord Sakusa,” he says in a biting tone. “It’s clear to everyone here that you’re only kowtowing to these simple farmers because you wish to court the new lord. But maybe you’d have better luck finding a suitor or someone to accept your advances if you weren’t so blatantly pompous and pretentious in flaunting a level of wealth and power you never would have had without the successes and favor of your late parents.”

Suddenly, it’s terribly quiet throughout the ballroom. Ma has a hand to her mouth and one hand outstretched as if to reach out to Sakusa. Akaashi’s eyes are flashing dangerously, but it’s when Bokuto steps forward with clear intent that Atsumu moves quickly to intercept. 

“Ya know what?” he asks, letting his voice carry loudly to hopefully avert attention away from where Sakusa has lowered his gaze. 

He feels a stab to the gut at the expression on his face. Where he might once have thought it cold and impassive, he sees in the glitter of his downturned eyes the discomfort that is always present around others, though less so recently around the Miyas as much as Bokuto or Akaashi, and that uncertainty he’d expressed himself. He’d said before he didn’t quite understand people intuitively, and looking at him now, at the way he doesn’t seem to question Lord Noboru’s words or snap at the accusation makes heat flare in Atsumu’s chest. 

“You’re of the Noboru line, yeah?” Atsumu says with a lazy smile. He goes on without waiting for confirmation. “That’s descended from the Eisuke line, ain’t that right? Yeah, I read all about your family in one of those books on the kingdom’s smallest fiefdoms.” The man’s expression darkens at the mild insult, and Atsumu feels amusement curl in him amidst the angry heat still burning there. “I read about how your family has a history of squandering even the simplest trade deals that would’ve been good for your lands. Your people are habitually poor for no good goddamn reason. Seems like you’re still makin’ the same poor mistakes as your ancestors if ya still haven’t got it right yet. And here ya are, being a sad sack shit, insultin’ someone whose own family has spent years working ta put ya back on track.” 

“Why you miserable piece of - “

“Don’t know about what the rest of ya are thinkin’,” Atsumu says, talking over him as he takes a quick glance around at the people beginning to crowd around them, “but it seems like you’re lucky Sakusa cares enough about your poor townspeople to grant you an audience - a second one, even - after your embarrassing history of failure. Seems ta me he should put someone else in charge of your fief.”

Lord Noboru is nearly spitting with fury. “How dare you,” he hisses. “Common filth prancing around here as if you have any right to stand among us. We all know you’re just using Lord Sakusa and Sir Bokuto to move up the hierarchy from where you’ve lived your entire life in the mud.”

Atsumu shrugs that off easily. It’s just the same old shit he expected to hear since he arrived, even if no one has said it yet to his face. “Look, ya sad scrub,” he says. “Ya can’t make me feel bad about being a common farmer. I didn’t need any money before, and I don’t need a lick of it now. I’ve got my farm, my ma and brother, and we’re fine and good in the mud, as you say. You folks brought me here, not the other way around. I’m grateful to Sakusa and Bokuto and Akaashi for lookin’ out for me and mine, but honestly, I’m lookin’ forward ta leavin’ all the rest of ya behind.”

He takes a quick glance around to see that people seem to be struck dumb. He smiles sideways at Sakusa, half apologetically, but he’s just an honest man - a commoner, and maybe that’s all he’ll ever be. 

The other lord sputters, at a loss in the face of Atsumu’s refusal to be insulted in return. Then he seems to gather his wits about him and steps forward with intent, a dark scowl on his face like he’s actually trying to start a fight.

Something nasty and pleased winds its way into Atsumu’s gut. He takes a step forward on his own, shrugging off Osamu’s hand when it lands on his arm as if to stay his hand. Atsumu straightens his shoulders in the way he knows can be intimidating due to his height and the muscle he’s put on over years from working the farm. Roughly shoving his sleeves up, he hears the ping of the fancy cufflinks of his shirt hit the floor in the taut, ensuing silence around them.

Smiling easily, dangerously, he spreads his hands as if in invitation, and the lord stumbles as he takes a few retreating step back at Atsumu’s approach. 

Bokuto is laughing and then coughing to cover it up when someone whispers at him, and Atsumu’s grin just grows wider. 

Yeah, he thinks, smug as all hell. Let these flouncy rich folk remember why he’s fuckin’ here. He’s from a long line of common farmers from out in-the-middle-of-nowhere Hyogo. His hands are forever roughly calloused, and his nails, even after days of living the good life here in the city, are still dirt-encrusted and broken from daily hard work. He honestly couldn’t be any prouder of it. 

And yeah, he saved big and beefy Sir Bokuto, renowned knight and fuckin’ savior of the kingdom, from a horde of enemy soldiers across enemy lines when everyone else, lords included, retreated and left the man for dead. Atsumu can face down a few poncy scrubs in blouses here in this fancy ballroom without a blink of hesitation. 

In the stillness and the silence, it’s Bokuto who steps forward now, stepping between Atsumu and Lord Noboru. He puts a heavy hand on each of their shoulders, grinning broadly. “Well,” he says with another laugh, and there’s almost a collective sigh of relief from the people around them. “I don’t know much, but I have the feeling that this might not end well if we continue, eh, Lord Noboru? How about we cool off?”

Lord Noboru casts one last frustrated, albeit hesitant, look at Atsumu, then at Sakusa, before he stalks off. In his wake, the murmur of the party guests grows to a dull roar. 

Strangely, they’re not really only looking at Atsumu, but at Sakusa as well. Next to him, Ma’s eyes are shining at him, and Osamu is smirking, but Atsumu doesn’t miss the clear pride they’re exuding. That, amidst the stares and the chatter, suddenly makes him feel self-conscious. 

More so, he catches a specific stare and wishes then that he could sink into a hole. 

When Sakusa finally averts his gaze, he says quietly, “You might have inadvertently started a few unwanted rumors about yourself with that confrontation, Miya.” 

“Let ‘em say what they want,” Atsumu replies lightly, ignoring the blush that must be apparent on his face. “I don’t care if you don’t.”

In response, the corner of Sakusa’s lips just turns up with the hint of a little smile. 

Despite feeling Osamu’s and his ma’s gazes heavy and pleased on him, Atsumu can’t help but watch Sakusa as he turns away when Bokuto gestures for his attention. 

Atsumu takes in Sakusa’s profile, the sight of the two delicate beauty marks above his eyebrow, the way his hair falls in curly wisps over his eyes when he leans forward to listen more closely, how his gloved hands are folded neatly behind him. 

And Atsumu feels that strange warmth stir in his chest as he turns away, ignoring the way it inches higher to fill him, to swallow him whole, like an ever rising tide. 

///

Late that night, once the last guests have left and the manor has gone quiet, silence rings in the aftermath of the party’s lively noise. Atsumu is walking off his energy down the hall when he sees a shadow outside a window that overlooks the garden. 

He backtracks to make his way outside, jogging to catch up to the slow amble of the familiar figure taking a turn around a corner of the manor. 

“Sakusa,” Atsumu says, conscious of the volume of his voice in the night. 

Sakusa turns, but he doesn’t seem surprised to see Atsumu pulling up next to him. “Miya,” he greets. The corner of his mouth ticks up with a hint of a grin in the low light. “Lord Miya, that is. Did you enjoy your party?” 

Atsumu shrugs. “Sure. Osamu was up and eatin’ all the food, and Ma liked walkin’ around in that dress ya got her. And I got to talk down to a poncey prick. What’s not to like?”

Sakusa huffs a quiet laugh, and Atsumu can’t help but watch the shadows of his face as it changes with the action of it. Then Sakusa says, “I never thanked you properly for defending me earlier. You didn’t have to do that. I’m well aware of what people think of me - and what they want.” Sakusa casts a small smile in Atsumu’s direction, as if inviting him in on a secret or a joke at his own expense, as if Atsumu knows it better than anyone. 

And there’s that strange rising feeling building in Atsumu’s chest again as he catalogues the lines of Sakusa’s amusement across his expression, the oddly relaxed line of his shoulders as they walk side by side along the path around the manor. 

Atsumu shrugs it off like it’s nothing. “They got the wrong idea about ya anyway.”

Sakusa shakes his head, looking at him like he’s searching for something in Atsumu’s face. He says then, “You know, it seems Bokuto’s tales of your heroism were not exaggerated after all.”

Atsumu is suddenly overwhelmed with warmth, and he’s speaking before he can think twice about it. He puts a hand out to press on Sakusa’s arm to stop him on the path, and he looks directly back when Sakusa looks at him in askance. “Hey, would it be against noble protocol or somethin’ if I kissed ya right now?” Atsumu asks in a rush. 

Sakusa’s eyes fly wide open.

Atsumu raises his hands defensively. “Ah shit. I was just wonderin’! I’m taking your reaction to mean that it is. No offense meant!” 

He turns to beat a hasty retreat, but Sakusa grabs his wrist, yanking him back sharply enough that Atsumu stumbles into him. “My apologies,” Sakusa says, that bright tinge of pink sweeping across his cheeks as he helps steady Atsumu on his feet. “I didn’t mean to pull so hard.” He isn’t meeting Atsumu’s confused stare anymore, but Atsumu sees the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows. Then he says, “I - it wouldn’t be.” He pauses and clears his throat, forcing his eyes up. “It wouldn’t be against - um - _protocol_ in the least. I was merely surprised by your desire to - to do that.”

“Ta kiss ya, you mean?” Atsumu says, growing more amused by each passing second and each new shade of pink and red flitting across Sakusa’s face even in the dark. 

“I - wouldn’t be opposed, if that’s what you wanted.” 

Atsumu tilts his head to the side, letting his smile grow as Sakusa watches him. “Well, what do _you_ want?” 

Sakusa blinks at him blankly, as if the question is such a foreign one to him. 

This is the richest man at court - young, well regarded, and, Atsumu can admit more easily now, handsome. Sakusa has everything a man could ever need, people at his beck and call, suitor after suitor eager to seek his hand in marriage, a kingdom in the palm of his hand. 

And yet here Sakusa is, thrown for a loop at a simple question about what he might want for himself. 

As he watches Sakusa think about it, Atsumu feels something clenching in his chest - but in a good way that he hasn't really felt before. It makes him relax into his smile and release the tension from his shoulders. 

So he waits, his wrist held there in Sakusa’s warm hand, with a patience he never knew he possessed. If Sakusa asked him for anything then, Atsumu would be hard pressed to refuse him anything. 

And it’s quiet then, like the world has stilled - just for a moment - to give them the gift of time.

The silence grows and grows, and at one point it looks like Sakusa is not even going to answer, but then he clears his throat again. 

The answer is finally revealed in how he hesitantly tugs on Atsumu’s wrist to bring him closer. 

Atsumu can’t help but smile again. “Ya ever kiss anybody before, Omi-Omi?” 

Sakusa frowns at the use of the nickname, but in the short time he’s known this man, Atsumu has catalogued all of those little frowns, the minute tics and twitches across his face, and he realizes with interest that it isn’t an expression of distaste. At least not this time. It’s something else entirely, and Atsumu is nearly overcome with fondness. “No,” Sakusa says curtly. 

“I’m surprised,” Atsumu says, and he isn’t even lying. “Yer handsome. Clever. Sharp. Pretty funny too, actually. I’d have figured anyone in the city would try ‘n jump ya given half the chance.”

Sakusa is blushing now, his frown deepening with self-consciousness. “I never wanted them.” 

“But you want _me_ then?” he replies, teasing.

Sakusa’s hand tightens lightly around his wrist, and Atsumu gets the feeling it was probably unintentional from the way Sakusa immediately releases him, quickly looking away. 

Atsumu feels a bit bereft at the loss of the touch, mildly regretful for teasing when it seems that Sakusa may not really be in a state to handle it at the moment. 

He thinks of what Sakusa had said before, about knowing what people think of him, what they want from him. And he sees evidence of that knowledge in the tense way he suddenly holds himself now, the lines of uncertainty across his shoulders, the unease in the frown of his brow. 

“Well,” Atsumu says, hoping to smooth out all of those rough lines, “ya might be surprised to hear it, but I actually like ya, Omi-kun.” He pauses, dipping his head down to catch Sakusa’s gaze. He decides to just let that rising feeling in him pour out. “You could have yer pick of anyone, if ya opened yer eyes to it, ya know. So here I am, putin’ myself out there, I guess.” He pauses, taking in how Sakusa seems at a loss for words, and he goes on. “I - I like yer stupid frowns. And yer hands when you’re out in the garden. I like that ya say what ya think, even if maybe you don’t mean to sometimes. But you’re pretty rude, though maybe ya don’t mean ta be. And ya also judge people too fast. And I think ya generally hate ‘em as much as I do.” 

Sakusa looks stoic again, like he’s closing himself off.

Quickly, before any of that can sink in too far, Atsumu says, “But I like that about ya, really. Isn’t that somethin’? I really do. Because, regardless, you still are dedicated to helpin’ ‘em, even if ya don’t like ‘em. You’re still generous and kind, even when they don’t deserve it.” He runs a hand through his hair and laughs at himself. “Anyway. I know I’m not - you know - refined like you, and I don’t know how things work here. I’m just a simple farmer. But - well, I’m here. If ya want me, anyway.” 

And Atsumu can’t help it, and wouldn’t admit it even under duress, that he’s maybe a little uncertain himself. He knows he doesn’t belong here, that this life is not one he was born into, nor one he ever wanted. He is fully aware that it might very well be one he’ll never grow accustomed to or fit into properly, no matter how many of Sakusa’s books he reads or what fancy outfits he’s fitted into on any given day to look like the rest.

He has etiquette books piled high in his room upstairs, books and reports besides on how to run a fief, and boring tomes on lineages across the kingdom. Akaashi has offered to provide him with notes on who may be good contacts at court, suggestions for people to visit with whom he may get along. 

Still, amidst all of this new information that Atsumu is trying to consume and parse through, these days it’s Sakusa who has settled into the crevices of his mind. 

It’s Sakusa he’s resisted the most, had been determined to hate the most in how he seemed to be everything about this world Atsumu had never wanted to be a part of.

And it’s Sakusa who gets a rise out of him the most when Atsumu had blundered into the city thinking nothing here could touch him. 

Atsumu had done all he could to try to resist the tide, to keep himself safe on a shore of what was certain and safe and familiar. Yet here he stands nonetheless, for better or worse, waist-deep in the thick of it, drawn deeper still as if by a riptide of inevitability.

Then - and perhaps it’s no longer a surprise, really - Sakusa takes a breath and steps forward. And even though it’s such a small thing, Atsumu can see the bit of bravery there in the movement. Atsumu reaches out his hands, willing for once to be the one to make an offering gesture, to meet Sakusa halfway between them.

“You - you were more than I thought you could be,” Sakusa says finally, and Atsumu tilts his head, not sure that he understands. “I’d been curious - and intrigued, about the man Bokuto spoke so highly of in all of his letters, and when he returned home saved. When we met, I was frustrated at my own shortcomings, upset that you seemed different from what he’d described.” 

Atsumu begins to take a step back, but Sakusa reaches out, his hands landing on Atsumu’s waist to hold him steady. 

“But I was fascinated by your constant rebuttal. I eventually found that you were as cutting as a knife - yet that sharpness was only dulled by Bokuto’s stories of your heroic deeds. And - and I fell for you. Entirely. Despite my better judgment.” Sakusa pauses again, and he smiles, the sight of it pulling at Atsumu like a compulsion. “So yes. I do - want you, that is. Very much.”

“My, my, Lord Sakusa,” Atsumu drawls, grinning back at him. “What would the other nobles say about ya now? This seems pretty racy of ya!”

“Shut up, Atsumu,” Sakusa says lightly. 

All of a sudden, there’s barely space between them at all. Atsumu rests his hands on Sakusa’s shoulders, fingertips digging into the fabric beneath his callouses as Sakusa’s long fingers curl tighter around his waist. 

Atsumu feels laughter bubble up in him. He’s suddenly, and so clearly, happy, perhaps for the first time in a way he hadn’t been before - hadn’t known he could be. And the feeling is light and clear, and it rises, rises to fill him entirely, like lapping waves within him. And Sakusa looks gently down at him with that smile still on his face. 

And then there’s the soft, soft warmth and gentle press of lips against Atsumu’s, a sigh of breath, and it feels a little like drowning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh it’s over. Whew! What’d you think? 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading this random little - though not so little, clearly - fic! <3 
> 
> P.S. If you want to chat, I’m finally on twitter [@meekswrites](https://twitter.com/meekswrites)!
> 
> ETA: Um, incredibly, there is now fanart of Lord Sakusa from this fic in the world! @Nidalee37 on Twitter captured his first scene in which he emerges from behind the curtain in Itachiyama colors, and I’m swooning! [ See it here](https://twitter.com/nidalee37/status/1326531003125358594?s=21%E2%80%9D%20rel=)!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! 
> 
> If you’re on Twitter, come hit me up - [@meekswrites](https://twitter.com/meekswrites)!


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